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I have been accused, in certain quarters, of giving flattering 
portraits of my countrymen. Against this charge I may plead 
that, being a portrait-painter by profession, the habit of taking 
the best view of my subject, so long prevalent in my eye, has 
gone deeper, and influenced my mind : — and if to paint one's 
country in its gracious aspect has been a weakness, at least, to 
use the words of an illustrious compatriot, 

■ the failing leads to virtue's side. 

I am disinclined, however, to believe myself an offender in thia 
particular. That I love my country dearly, I acknowledge, and 
I am sure every Englishman will respect me the more for loving 
mine, when he is, with justice, so proud of his — but I repeat my 
disbelief that I overrate my own. 

The present volume, I hope, will disarm any cavil from old 
quarters on the score of national prejudice. The hero is f> 
blundering fellow whom no English or other gentleman would 
like to have in his service; but still he has some redeeming 
natural traits : he is not made either a brute or a villain ; yet his 
" twelve months' character," given in the successive numbers of 
this volume, would not get him a place upon advertisment either 
in " The Times" or " The Chronicle." So far am I clear of 
the charge of national prejudice as regards the hero of the fol- 
lowing pages. 

In the subordinate personages, the reader will see two 
" Squires " of different types — good and bad ; there are such in 
all countries. And, as a tale cannot get on without villains, I 
have given some touches of villany, quite sufficient to prove my 
belief in Irish villains, though I do not wish it to be believed 
the Irish are all villains. 


I confess I have attempted a slight sketch, in one of the per- 
sons represented, of a gentleman and a patriot ;— and I conceive 
there is a strong relationship between the two. He loves the 
land that bore him— and so did most of the great spirits re- 
corded in history. His own mental cultivation, while it yields 
him personal enjoyment, teaches him not to treat with contumely 
inferior men. Though he has courage to protect his honour, he 
is not deficient in conscience to feel for the consequences ; and 
when opportunity offers the means of amende, it is embraced. In 
a word, I wish it to be believed that, while there are knaves, and 
fools, and villains in Ireland, — as in other parts of the world, — 
honest, intelligent, and noble spirits are there also. 

I cannot conclude without offering my sincere thanks for tne 
cordial manner in which my serial offering has been received by 
the public, and noticed by the critical press, whose valuable col- 
umns have been so often opened to it in quotation ; and, when 
it is considered how large an amount of intellect is employed in 
this particular department of literature, the highest names might 
be proud of such recognition. 

London, 1st December, 1842. 

The reprinting of the foregoing address, attached to the First 
Edition, sufficiently implies that my feelings and opinions re- 
specting my country ana my countrymen remain unchanged. So 
far, enough said. 

I desire, however, to add a few words to inform those who 
may, for the first time, read the story in this the Fourth Edition 
that the early pages were written fifteen years ago, as a maga- 
zine article ;— that the success of that article led to the con- 
tinuation of the subject in other articles, and so on, till eventually, 
twelve monthly numbers made up a book. A story thus origi- 
nated could not be other than sketchy and desultory, and open 
to the captiousness of over-fastidious criticism : it was never 
meant to be a work of high pretension — only one of those easy 
trifles which afford a laugh, and require to be read in the same 
careless spirit of good humour in which they are written. 

In such a spirit, I am happy to say, " Handy Andy " was read 
fourteen years ago, and has continued to be read ever since ; 
and as this reprint, in a cheaper form, will open it to thousands 
of fresh readers, I give these few introductory words to propi- 
tiate in ihe future the kindly spirit which I gratefully remember 
in the past. 

London, 26th July, 1854. 



Andy Roonet was a fellow who had the most singularly 
ingenious knack of doing everything the wrong way ; disap- 
pointment waited on all affairs in which he bore a part, and 
destruction was at his fingers' ends : so the nickname the 
neighbours stuck upon him was Handy Andy, and the jeering 
jingle pleased them. 

Andy's entrance into this world was quite in character with 
his after achievements, for he was nearly the death of his 
mother. She survived, however, to have herself clawed almost 
to death while her darling " babby" was in arms, for he would 
not take his nourishment from the parent fount unless he had 
one of his little red fists twisted into his mother's hair, which 
he dragged till he made her roar ; while he diverted the pain 
by scratching her till the blood came, with the other. Never- 
theless she swore he was " the loveliest and sweetest craythur 
the sun ever shined upon;" and when he was able to run 
about and wield a little stick, and smash everything breakable 
belonging to her, she only praised his precocious powers, and 
she used to ask, " Did ever any one see a darlin' of his age 
handle a stick so bowld as he did ?" 

Andy grew up in mischief and the admiration of his 
mammy ; but to do him justice, he never meant harm in the 
course of his life, and was most anxious to offer his services on 
•11 occasions to those who would accept them ; but they were 
only the persons who had not already proved Andy's peculiar 

There was a farmer hard by in this happy state of ignorance, 
named Owen Doyle, or as he was familiarly called, Owny na 
Coppal, or, " Owen of the Horses," because he bred many of 
these animals and sold them at the neighbouring fairs ; and 
Andy one day offered his services to Owny when he was in 


want of some one to drive up a horse to his house from a 
distant " bottom," as low grounds by a river side are called 
in Ireland. 

" Oh, he's wild, Andy, and you'd never be able to ketch 
him," said Owny. 

" Troth, an' I'll engage I'll ketch him if you'll let me go. 
I never seen the horse I couldn't ketch, sir," said Andy. 

" Why, you little spridhogue, if he took to runnin' over the 
long bottom, it 'ud be more than a day's work for you to folly 

" Oh, but he won't run." 

"Why won't he run?" 

" Bekase I won't make him run." 

" How can you help it?" 

" I'll soother him." 

" Well, you're a willin' brat, anyhow ; so go on, and God 
speed you ! " said Owny. 

" Just gi' me a wisp o' hay an' a han'ful iv oats," said Andy, 
" if I should have to coax him." 

" Sartinly," said Owny, who entered the stable and came 
forth with the articles required by Andy, and a halter for the 
horse also. 

" Now, take care," said Owny, " that you are able to ride 
that horse if you get on him." 

" Oh, never fear, sir. I can ride owld Lanty Gubbins* 
mule betther nor any o' the boys on the common, and he 
couldn't throw me th' other day, though he kicked the shoes 
av him." 

" After that you may ride anything," said Owny ; and 
indeed it was true; for Lanty's mule, which fed on the common, 
being ridden slily by all the young vagabonds in the neigh- 
bourhood, had become such an adept in the art of getting rid 
of his troublesome customers that it might well be considered 
a feat to stick on him. 

" Now, take great care of him, Andy, my boy," said the farmer. 

"Don't be afeard, sir," said Andy, who started on his 
errand in that peculiar pace which is elegantly called a "sweep'a 
trot;" and as the river lay between Owny Doyle's and the 
bottom, and was too deep for Andy to ford at that season, he 
went round by Dinny Dowling's mill, where a small wooden 
bridge crossed the stream. 

Here he thought he might as well secure the assistance of 
Paudeen, the miller's son, to help him in catching the horse ; 
so he looked about the place until he found him, and telling 
him the errand on which he was going, said, " If you like to 


come wid me, we can both have a ride." This was temptation 
sufficient for Paudeen, and the boys proceeded together to the 
bottom, and they were not long in securing the horse. When 
they had got the halter over his head, "Now," said Andy, 
" give me a lift on him ;" and accordingly, by Paudeen's 
catching Andy's left foot in both his hands clasped together in 
«he fashion of a stirrup, he hoisted his friend on the horse's 
back ; and as soon as he was secure there, Master Paudeen, by 
the aid of Andy's hand, contrived to scramble up after him ; 
upon which Andy applied his heel to the horse's side with 
many vigorous kicks, and crying " hurrup ! " at the same time, 
endeavoured to stimulate Owny's steed into something of a 
pace as he turned his head towards the mill. 

" Sure aren't you going to crass the river?" said Paudeen. 

" No, I'm going to lave you at home." 

" Oh, I'd rather go up to Owny's, and it's the shortest way 
acrass the river." 

" Yes, but I don't like." 

" Is it afeard that you are ?" said Paudeen. 

" Not I, indeed ! " said Andy ; though it was really the 
fact, for the width of the stream startled him, " but Owny told 
me to take grate care o' the baste, and I'm loath to wet 
his feet," 

" Go 'long wid you, you fool ! what harm would it do him ? 
Sure he's neither sugar nor salt that he'd melt." 

" Well, I won't anyhow," said Andy, who by this time had 
got the horse into a good high trot, that shook every word of 
argument out of Paudeen's body ; besides, it was as much as 
the boys could do to keep their seats on Owney's Bucephalus, 
who was not long in reaching the miller's bridge. Here voice 
and halter were employed to pull him in, that he might cross 
the narrow wooden structure at a quiet pace But whether 
his double load had given him the idea of double exertion, or 
that the pair of legs on each side sticking into his flanks (and 
perhaps the horse was ticklish) made him go the faster, we know 
not ; but the horse charged the bridge as if an Enniskilliner 
were on his back, and an enemy before him ; and in two minutes 
his hoofs clattered like thunder on the bridge, that did not 
bend beneath him. No, it did not bend but it broke ; proving 
the falsehood of the boast, " I may break, but I won't bend;" 
for, after all, the really strong may bend, and be as strong as 
ever : it is the unsound that has only the seeming of strength, 
which breaks at last when it resists too long. 

Surprising was the spin the young equestrians took over 
the ears of the horse, enough to make all the artists of Astley's 


envious ; and plump they went into the river, where each 
formed his own ring, and executed some comical " scenes in 
the circle," which were suddenly changed to evolutions on the 
"flying cord" that Dinny Dowling threw to the performers, 
which became suddenly converted into a " tight rope," as he 
dragged the voltigeurs out of the water; and for fear their 
blood might be chilled by the accident, he gave them an enor- 
mous thrashing with the dry end of the rope, just to restore 
circulation ; and his exertions, had they been witnessed, would 
have charmed the Humane Society. 

As for the horse, his legs stuck through the bridge, as 
though he had been put in a chiroplast, and he went playing 
away on the water with considerable execution, as if he were 
accompanying himself in the song which he was squealing at 
the top of his voice. Half the saws, hatchets, ropes, and poles 
in the parish were put in requisition immediately, and the 
horse's first lesson in chiroplastic exercise was performed with 
no other loss than some skin and a good deal of hair. Of 
course Andy did not venture on taking Owny's horse home ; 
so the miller sent him to his owner, with an account of the 
accident. Andy for years kept out of Owny na Coppal's way ; 
and at any time that his presence was troublesome, the incon- 
venienced party had only to say, " Isn't that Owny na Coppal 
coming this way ? " and Andy lied for his life. 

When Andy grew up to be what in country parlance is 
called " a brave lump of a boy," his mother thought he was old 
enough to do something for himself; so she took him one day 
along with her to the squire's, and waited outside the door, 
loitering up and down the yard behind the house, among a 
crowd of beggars and great lazy dogs, that were thrusting their 
heads into every iron pot that stood outside the kitchen door, 
until chance might give her " a sight o' the squire afore he wint 
out, or afore he wint in ;" and after spending her entire day in 
this idle way, at last the squire made his appearance, and Judy 
presented her son, who kept scraping his foot, and pulling his 
forelock, that stuck out like a piece of ragged thatch from his 
forehead, making his obeisance to the squire, while his mother 
was sounding his praises for being the " handiest craythu? 
alive — and so willin' — nothin' comes wrong to him." 

" I suppose the English of all this is, you want me to take 
him?" said the squire. 

" Throth, an' your honour, that's just it — if your bonoui 
would be plazed." 

"What can he do?' 

"Anything, your honour." 


"That means nothing, I suppose," said the squire. 

" Ob, no, sir. Everything, I mane, that you would desire 
him to do.'' 

To every one of these assurances on his mother's part Andy 
made a bow and a scrape. 

" Can he take care of horses ?" 

" The best of care, sir," said the mother ; while the miller, 
who was standing behind the squire, waiting for orders, made 
a grimace at Andy, who was obliged to cram his face into his 
hat to hide the laugh, which he could hardly smother from 
being heard, as well as seen. 

" Let him come, then, and help in the stables, and we'll see 
what we can do." 

"May the Lord"— 

" That'll do— there, now go." 

" Oh, sure, but I'll pray for you, and" 

"Will you go?" 

" And may the angels make your honour's bed this blessed 
night, I pray." 

" If you don't go, your son shan't come." 

Judy and her hopeful boy turned to the right about in 
double-quick time, and hurried down the avenue. 

The next day Andy was duly installed into his office of 
stable-helper ; and, as he was a good rider, he was soon made 
whipper-in to the hounds, for there was a want of such a func- 
tionary in the establishment; and Andy's boldness in this 
capacity soon made him a favourite with the squire, who was 
one of those rollicking boys on the pattern of the old school, 
who scorned the attentions of a regular valet, and let any one 
that chance threw in his way bring him his boots, or his hot 
water for shaving, or his coat, whenever it was brushed. One 
morning, Andy, who was very often the attendant on such 
occasions, came to his room with hot water. He tapped at the 

" Who's that ?" said the squire, who had just risen, and did 
not know but it might be one of the women servants. 

" It's me, sir." 

" Oh— Andy ! Come in." 

" Here's the hot water, sir," said Andy, bearing an enormous 
tin can. 

"Why, what the d — 1 brings that enormous tin can hare ? 
You might as well bring the stable bucket." 

" I beg your pardon, sir," said Andy, retreating. In two 
minutes more Andy came back, and, tapping at the door, 
put in his head cautiously, and said, " The maids in the 


kitchen, your honour, says there's not so much hot watef 

" Did I not see it a moment since in your hand ? " 

" Yes, sir ; but that's not nigh the full o' the stable-bucket ! " 

" Go along you stupid thief! and get me some hot watel 

"Will the can do, sir?" 

"Ay, anything, so you make haste." 

Off posted Andy, and back he came with the can. 

"Where'lllputit, sir?" 

"Throw this out," said the squire, handing Andy a jug 
containing some cold water, meaning the jug to be replenished 
with the hot. 

Andy took the jug, and the window of the room being open, 
he very deliberately threw the jug out. The squire stared 
with wonder, and at last said — 

" What did you do that for ? " 

" Sure you towld me to throw it out, sir." 

" Go out of this, you thick-headed villain !" said the squire, 
throwing his boots at Andy's head, along with some very n eat 
curses. Andy retreated, and thought himself a very ill-used 

Though Andy's regular business was "whipper-in," yet he 
was liable to be called on for the performance of various other 
duties : he sometimes attended at table when the number of 
guests required that all the subs should be put in requisition, 
or rode on some distant errand for the " mistress," or drove 
out the nurse and children on the jaunting-car; and many 
were the mistakes, delays, or accidents, arising from Handy 
Andy's interference in such matters ; — but, as they were 
seldom serious, and generally laughable, they never cost him 
the loss of his place, or the squire's favour, who rather enjoyed 
Andy's blunders. 

The first time Andy was admitted into the mysteries of the 
dining-room, great was his wonder. The butler took him in 
to give him some previous instructions, and Andy was so lost 
in admiration at the sight of the assembled glass and plate, 
that he stood with his mou-th and eyes wide open, and scarcely 
heard a word that was said to him. After the head man had 
been dinning his instructions into him for some time, he said he 
might go, until his attendance was required. But Andy 
moved not; he stood with his eyes fixed by a sort of fascina- 
tion on some object that seemed to rivet them with the same 
unaccountable influence which the rattlesnake exercises ove? 
its victim. 


" What are you looking at?" said the butler. 
"Them things, sir," said Andy, pointing to some silver 

" Is it the forks ?" said the butler. 

" Oh no, sir ! I know what forks is very well ; but I nevet 
seen them things afore." 

" What things do you mean ?" 

"These things, sir," said Andy, taking up one of the silver 
forks, and turning it round and round in his hand in utter 
astonishment, while the butler grinned at his ignorance, and 
enjoyed his own superior knowledge. 

" Well !'' said Andy, after a long pause, " the devil be from 
me if ever I seen a silver spoon split that way before !" 

The butler gave a horse laugh, and made a standing joke 
of Andy's split spoon; but time and experience made Andy 
less impressed with wonder at the show of plate and glass, and 
the split spoons became familiar as "household words" to him; 
yet still there were things in the duties of table attendance 
beyond Andy's comprehension — he used to hand cold plates for 
fish, and hot plates for jelly, &c. But " one day," as Zanga 
says — " one day " he was thrown off his centre in a remarkable 
degree by a bottle of soda-water. 

It was when that combustible was first introduced into 
Ireland as a dinner beverage that the occurrence took place 
and Andy had the luck to be the persqn to whom a gentleman 
applied for some soda-water. 

"Sir?" said Andy. 

" Soda-water," said the guest, in that subdued tone ; in 
which people are apt to name their wants at a dinner-table. 

Andy went to the butler. "Mr. Morgan, there's a gintle- 
man — " 

" Let me alone, will you ?" said Mr. Morgan. 

Andy manceuvred round him a little longer, and again 
essayed to be heard. 

" Mr. Morgan !" 

" Don't you see I'm as busy as I can be ? Can't you do it 

" I dunna what he wants." 

" Well, go and ax him," said Mr. Morgan. 

Andy went off as he was bidden, and came behind the 
thirsty gentleman's chair, with "I beg your pardon, sir." 

" Well !" said the gentleman. 

" I beg your pardon, sir ; but what's this you axed me fo?P* 

" Soda-water." 

"What, sir P" 


" Soda-water : but, perhaps you have not any." 

" Oh, there's plentv in the house, sir ! Would you like it 
hot, sir?" 

The gentleman laughed, and supposing the new fashion waa 
not understood in the present company, said, " Never mind." 

But Andy was too anxious to please to be so satisfied, and 
again applied to Mr. Morgan. 

" Sir !" said he. 

" Bad luck to you ! — can't you let me alone ?" 

" There's a gentleman wants some soap and wather." 

" Some what ?" 

" Soap and wather, sir ?" 

" Divil sweep you ! — Soda-w'ather you mane. You'll get 
it under the side-board." 

" Is it in the can, sir ?" 

" The curse o' Crum'll on you ! in the bottles." 

" Is this it, sir?" said Andy, producing a bottle of ale. 

" No, bad cess to you ! — the little bottles." 

" Is it the little bottles with no bottoms, sir?'' 

" I wish you wor in the bottom o' the say !" said Mr. 
Morgan, who was fuming and puffing, and rubbing down his 
face with a napkin, as he was hurrying to all quarters of the 
room, or, as Andy said, in praising his activity, that he was 
"like bad luck — everywhere." 

" There they are !" said Morgan at last. 

"Oh! them bottles that won't stand," said Andy; "sure 
them's what I said, with no bottoms to them. How'll I open 
it ? — it's tied down." 

" Cut the cord, you fool ! " 

Andy did as he was desired ; and he happened at the time 
to hold the bottle of soda-water on a level with the candles that 
shed light over the festive board from a large silver branch, 
and the moment he made the incision, bang went the bottle of 
soda, knocking out two of the lights with the projected cork, 
which, performing its parabola the length of the room, struck 
the squire himself in the eye at the foot of the table : while the 
hostess at the head had a cold bath down her back. Andy, 
when he saw the soda-water jumping out of the bottle, held it 
from him at arm's length ; every fizz it made, exclaiming, 
" Ow ! — ow ! — ow ! " and, at last, when the bottle was empty, 
he roared out, " Oh, Lord ! — it's all gone ! " 

Great was the commotion ; — few could resist laughter except 
the ladies, who all looked at their gowns, not liking the mixture 
of satin and soda-water. The extinguished candles were re- 
lighted — the squire got his eye open again — and the next time 


be perceived the butler sufficiently near to speak to mm, he 
said in a low and hurried tone of deep anger, while he knit his 
brow, " Send that fellow out of the room ! " but, within the 
same instant, resumed the former smile, that beamed on all 
around as if nothing had happened. 

Andy was expelled the mile a manger in disgrace, and for 
days kept out of the master's and mistress' way : in the mean- 
time the butler made a good story of the thing in the servants' 
hall ; and, when he held up Andy's ignorance to ridicule, by 
telling how he asked for " soap and water," Andy was given 
the name of " Suds," and was called by no other for months 

But, though Andy's functions in the interior wei e suspended, 
his services in out-of-door affairs were occasionally put in 
requisition. But here his evil genius still haunted him, and he 
put his foot in a piece of business his master sent him upon one 
day, which was so simple as to defy almost the chance of Andy 
making any mistake about it ; but Andy was very ingenious 
in his own particular line. 

" Bide into the town and see if there's a letter for me," said 
the squire one day to our hero. 

" Yes, sir." 

" You know where to go ?" 

" To the town, sir." 

" But do you know where to go in the town ?' 

" No, sir." 

" And why don't you ask, you stupid thief ?" 

" Sure I'd find out, sir.'' 

" Did'nt I often tell you to ask what you're to do, when you 
don't know ?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" And why don't you ?'' 

" I don't like to be throublesome, sir." 

" Confound you ! " said the squire ; though he could not 
help laughing at Andy's excuse for remaining in ignorance. 

" Well," continued he, " go to the post-office. You know 
the post-office, I suppose ?" 

" Yes, sir, where they sell gunpowder." 

" You're right for once," said the squire ; for his Majesty's 
postmaster was the person who had the privilege of dealing in 
the aforesaid combustible. " Go then to the post-office, and 
ask for a letter for me. Remember — not gunpowder, but a 

" Yis, sir," said Andy, who got astride of his hack, and 
trotted away to the post-office. On arriving at the shop of tha 



postmaster, _ (for that person carried on a brisk trade its 
groceries, gimlets, broadcloth, and linen-drapery,) Andy pre- 
sented himself at the counter, and said, " I want a letther, sir, 
if you plaze." 

" Who do you want it for?" said the postmaster, in a tone 
which Andy considered an aggression upon the sacredness of 
private life : so Andy thought the coolest contempt he could 
throw upon the prying impertinence of the postmaster was to 
repeat his question. 

" I want a letther, sir, if you plaze." 

" And who do you want it for ?" repeated the postmaster. 

" What's that to you ?" said Andy. 

The postmaster, laughing at his simplicity, told him he 
could not tell what letter to give him unless he told him the 

" The directions I got was to get a letther here — that's the 

" Who gave you those directions." 

" The maother." 

" And who's your master ?" 

" AVhat consarn is that o' yours ?" 

" Why, you stupid rascal ! if you don't tell me his name, 
how can I give you a letter ?'' 

" You could give it, if you liked : but you're fond of axin' 
impident questions, bekase you think I'm simple.'' 

" Go along out o' this ! Your master must be as great a 
goose as yourself, to send such a messenger." 

" Bad luck to your impidence," said Andy ; " is it Squire 
Egan you dar to say goose to ?" 

" Oh, Squire Egan's your master, then?" 

" Yes, have you anything to say agin it ?" 

" Only that I never saw you before." 

" Faith, then you'll never see me agin if I have my own 

" I won't give you any letter for the squire, unless I know 
you're his servant. Is there any one in the town knows you ?" 

" Plenty," said Andy, " it's not every one is as ignorant as 

Just at this moment a person to whom Andy was known 
entered the house, who vouched to the postmaster that he might 
give Andy the squire's letter. " Have you one for me ?" 

" Yes, sir," said the postmaster, producing one— 

The gentleman paid the fourpence postage, and left the shop 
with bip lett<v 



" Here's a letter for the squire," saidthe postmaster; you'va 
to pay me elevenpence postage." 

" What 'ud I pay elevenpeooe for ?" 

" For postage." 

" To the devil wid you ! Didn't I see you giv< Mr. Durfy 
a letther for fourpence this minit, and a bigger letther than 
this ? and now you want me to pay elevenpence for this scrap 
of a thing. Do you think I'm a fool ?" 

" No : but I'm sure of it," said the postmaster. 

" Well, you're welkim to be sure, sure ; — but don't be 
delayin' me now : here's fourpence for you, and gi' me the 

" Go along, you stupid thief!" said the postmaster, taking 
up the letter, and going to serve a customer with a mouse- 

While this person and many others were served, Andy 
lounged up and down the shop, every now and then putting in 
his head in the middle of the customers, and saying, "Will you 
gi' me the letther?" 

He waited for above half anhour, in defiance of the anathemas 
of the postmaster, and at last left, when he found it impossible 
to get common justice for his master, which he thought he 
deserved as well as another man ; for, under this impression, 
Andy determined to give no more than the fourpence. 

The squire in the meantime was getting impatient for his 
return, and when Andy made his appearance, asked if there 
was a letter for him. 

" There is, sir," said Andy. 

" Then give it to me." 

" I haven't it, sir." 

" What do you mean?" 

" He wouldn't give it to me, sir.'' 

" Who wouldn't g>ve it you ?" 

" That owld chate beyant in the town — wanting to charge 
double for it." 

"Maybe it's a double letter. Why the devil didn't you 
pay what he asked, sir ?" 

" Arrah, sir, why would I let vou be chated ? It's not a 
double letther at all : not afrove half the size o' one Mr. Durfy 
got before my face for fourpence." 

" You'll provoke me to break your neck some day, you 
vagabond ! Ride back for your life, you omadhaun ; and pay 
whatever he asks, and get me the letter." 

" Why, sir, I tell you he was sellin' them before my face 
for fourpence a-piece." 


" Go back, you scoundrel ! or I'll horsewhip you ; and if 
you're longer than an hour, I'll have you ducked in the horse- 

Andy vanished, and made a second visit to the post-office. 
When he arrived, two other persons were getting letters, and 
the postmaster was selecting the epistles for each, from a large 
parcel that lay before him on the counter ; at the same time 
many shop customers were waiting to be served. 

" I'm come for that letther," said Andy. 

" I'll attend to you by-and-by." 

" The masther's in a hurry." 

" Let him wait till his hurry's over." 

" He'll murther me if I'm not back soon." 

" I'm glad to hear it." 

While the postmaster went on with such provoking answers 
to these appeals for despatch, Andy's eye caught the heap of 
letters which lay on the counter : so while certain weighing of 
soap and tobacco was going forward, he contrived to become 
possessed of two letters from the heap, and, having effected 
that, waited patiently enough till it was the great man's 
pleasure to give him the missive directed to his master. 

Then did Andy bestride his hack, and in triumph at his 
trick on the postmaster, rattle along the road homeward as 
fast as the beast could carry him. He came into the squire's 
presence, his face beaming with delight, and an air of self- 
satisfied superiority in his manner, quite unaccountable to his 
master, until he pulled forth his hand, which had been grub- 
bing up his prizes from the bottom of his pocket ; and holding 
three letters over his head, while he said, " Look at that ! " ho 
next slapped them down under his broad fist on the table 
before the squire, saying — 

"Well! if he did make me pay elevenpence, by gar. 
hroiight your honour the worth o' your money anyhow ! 



Andy walked out of the room with an air of supremo 
triumph, having laid the letters on the table, and left the 
squire staring after him in perfect amazement. 

" Well, by the powers ! that's the most extraordinary 
genius I ever came across," was the soliloquy the master 
uttered as the servant closed the door after him; and the 
squire broke the seal of the letter that Andy's blundering had 
so long delayed. It was from his law-agent on the subject of 
an expected election in the county, which would occur in case 
of the demise of the then sitting member ; — it ran thus : 

"Dubl'% Thursday. 
" My dear Squire, — I am making all possible exertions to 
have every and the earliest information on the subject of the 
election. I say the election, — because, though the seat of the 
county is not yet vacant, it is impossible but that it must 
soon be so. Any other man than the present member must 
have died long ago ; but Sir Timothy Trimmer has been so 
undecided all his life that he cannot at present make up his 
mind to die ; and it is only by Death himself giving the casting 
vote that the question can be decided. The writ for the vacant 
county is expected to arrive by every mail, and in the mean- 
time I am on the alert for information. You know we are sure 
of the barony of Ballysloughgutthery, and the boys of Killan- 
maul will murder any one that dares to give a vote against you. 
We are sure of Knockdoughty also, and the very pigs in 
Glanamuck would return you ; but I must put you on your 
guard on one point where you least expected to be betrayed. 
You told me you were sure of Neck-or-nothing Hall; but 
I can tell you you're out there ; for the master of the aforesaid 
is working heaven, earth, ocean, and all the little fishes, in the 
other interest ; for he is so over head and ears in debt, that he 
is looking out for a pension, and hopes to get one by giving his 
interest to the Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain, who sits for 
the Borough of Old Goosebery at present, but whose friends 
think his talents are worthy of a county. If Sack wins, Neck- 
or-nothing gets a pension — that's poz. I had it from the best 
authority. I lodge at a milliner's here : — no matter ; more 
when I see you. But don't be afraid ; we'll bag Sack, and 
distance Neck-or-nothing. But, seriously speaking, its too 


good a joke that O'Grady should use you in this manner, who 
have been so kind to him in money matters : but, as the old 
song says, ' Poverty parts good company ;' and he is so 
cursed poor that he can't afford to know you any longer, now 
that you have lent him all the money you had, and the pension 
in prospectu is too much for his feelings. I'll be down with 
you again as soon as I can, for I hate the diabolical town as I 
do poison. They have altered Stephen's Green — ruined it 
I should say. They have taken away thp big ditch that was 
round it, where I used to hunt water-rats when a boy. They 
are destroying the place with their d — d improvements. All 
the dogs are well, I hope, and my favourite bitch. Remember 
me to Mrs. Eeran, whom all admire. 

" My dear squire, yours per quire, 

" Mcktough Murphy. 
" To Edward Egan, Esq,, Merryvale." 

Murtough Murphy was a great character, as may be guessed 
from his letter. He was a country attorney of good practice ; 
good, because he could not help it — for he was a clever, ready- 
witted fellow, up to all sorts of trap, and one in whose hands a 
cause was very safe ; therefore he had plenty of clients without 
his seeking them. For if Murtough's practice had depended on 
his looking for it, he might have made broth of his own parch- 
ment ; for though to all intents and purposes a good attorney, 
he was so full of fun and fond of amusement, that it was only 
by dint, of the business being thrust upon him he was so exten- 
sive a practitioner. He loved a good bottle, a good hunt, a 
good joke, and a good song, as well as any fellow in Ireland : 
and even when he was obliged in the way of business to press 
a gentleman hard — to hunt his man to the death — he did it so 
good-humouredly that his very victim could not be angry with 
him. As for those he served, he was their prime favourite; 
there was nothing they could want to be done in the parchment 
line, that Murtough would not find out some way of doing; 
and he was so pleasant a fellow, that he shared in the hospi- 
tality of all the best tables in the county. He kept good 
horses, was on every raceground within twenty miles, and a 
steeple-chase was no steeple-chase without him. Then he 
oetted freely, and, what's more, won his bets very generally ; 
but no one found fault with him for that, and he took your 
money with such a good grace, and mostly gave you a bon mot 
in exchange for it — so that, next to winning the money your- 
Belf, you were glad it was won by Murtough Murphy. 

The sawire rea4 bis letter two or three times. an4. made bis 


comments as he proceeded. '"Working heaven and earth 
to ' — ha ! — so that's'the work O'Grady's at — that's old friend- 
ship, — foul ! — foul ! and after all the money I lent him too ; — 
he'd better take care — I'll be down on him if he plays false ; — 
not that I'd like that much either: — but — let's see who's this 
coming down to oppose me ? — Sack Scatterbrain — the biggest 
fool from this to himself; — the fellow can't ride a bit, — a 
pretty member for a sporting county! 'I lodge at a milliner's' 
— divil doubt you, Murtough ; I'll engage you do. Bad luck 
to him ! — he'd rather be fooling away his time in a, back par- 
lour, behind a bonnet shop, than minding the interests of the 
county. 'Pension' — ha! — wants it sure enough; — take care, 
O'Grady, or, by the powers, I'll be at you. You may baulk 
all the bailiffs, and defy any other man to serve you with a 
writ ; but, by jingo ! if I take the matter in hand, I'll be bound 
I'll get it done. ' Stephen's Green — big ditch — where I used 
to hunt water rats.' Divil sweep you, Murphy, you'd rather 
be hunting water-rats any day than minding your business. 
He's a clever fellow for all that. 'Favourite bitch — Mrs. 
Egan.' Aye ! there's the end of it — with his bit o' po'thry, 
too ! The divil ! " 

The squire threw down the letter, and then his eye caught 
the other two that Andy had purloined. 

" More of that stupid blackguard's work ! — robbing the 
mail — no less ! — that fellow will be hanged some time or other. 
Egad, may be they'll hang him for this ! What's best to be 
done ? May be it will be the safest way to see whom they are 
for, and send them to the parties, and request they will say 
nothing : that's it." 

The squire here took up the letters that lay before him, to 
read their superscriptions ; and the first he turned over was 
directed to Gustavus Granby O'Grady, Esq., Neck-or-nothing 
Hall, Knockbotherum. This was what is called a curious coin- 
cidence. Just as he had been reading all about O'Grady's 
intended treachery to him, here was a letter to that individual, 
and with the Dublin post-mark too, and a very grand seal. 

The squire examined the arms ; and, though not versed ia 
the mysteries of heraldry, he thought he remembered enough 
of most of the arms he had seen to say that this armorial bear- 
ing was a strange one to him. He turned the letter over and 
over again, and looked at it, back and front, with an expression 
in his face that said, as plain as countenance could speak, " I'd 
give a trifle to know what is inside of this." He looked at the 
seal again : " Here's a — goose I think it is, sitting on a bowl 
with cross-bars on it. and a spoon in its mouth : like the fellow 



that owns it, may be. A goose with a silver spoon in its mouth 
— well, here's the gable-end of a house, and a bird sitting on 
the top of it. Could it be Sparrow ? There's a fellow called 
Sparrow, an under-secretary at the Castle. D — nit! I wish 
I knew what it's about." 

The squire threw down the letter as he said, "D — n it!" 
but took it up again in a few seconds, and catching it edge- 
wise between his forefinger and thumb, gave a gentle pressure 
that made the letter gape at its extremities, and then, exer- 
cising that sidelong glance which is peculiar to postmasters, 
waiting maids, and magpies who inspect marrowbones, peeped 
into the interior of the epistle, saying to himself as he did so, 
" All's fair in war, and why not in electioneering ?" His face, 
which was screwed up to the scrutinising pucker, gradually 
lengthened as he caught some words that were on the last 
turn-over of the sheet, and so could be read thoroughly, and 
his brow darkened into the deepest frown as he scanned these 
lines: "As you very properly and pungently remark, poor 
Egan is a spoon — a mere spoon." " Am I a spoon, you rascal ?" 
said the squire, tearing the letter into pieces, and throwing it 
into the fire. "And so, Misther O'Grady, you say I'm a 
spoon !" and the blood of the Egans rose as the head of that 
pugnacious family strode up and down the room : " I'll spoon 
you, my buck ! — I'll settle your hash ! may be I'm a spoon 
you'll sup sorrow with yet I" 

Here he took up the poker, and made a very angry lunge at 
the fire that did not want stirring, and there he beheld the letter 
blazing merrily away. He dropped the poker as if he had 
caught it by the hot end, as he exclaimed, " What the d — 1 
shall I do ? I've burnt the letter !" This threw the squire into 
a fit of what he was wont to call his " considering cap;" and he 
sat with his feet on the fender for some minutes, occasionally 
muttering to himself what he began with, — " What the d— 1 
shall I do ? It's all owing to that infernal Andy — I'll murder 
that fellow some time or other. If he hadn't brought it — 
I shouldn't have seen it, to be sure, if I hadn't looked ; but then 
the temptation — a saint couldn't have withstood it. Confound 
it ! what a stupid trick to burn it ! Another here, too — must 
burn that as well, and say nothing about either of them :" and 
he took up the second letter, and, merely looking at the address, 
threw it into the fire. He then rang the bell, and desired 
Andy to be sent to him. As soon as that ingenious individual 
made his appearance, the squire desired him, with peculiar 
emphasis, to shut the door, and then opened upon him with— 

** You unfortupate rascal !" 


" Yis, your honour." 

"Do you know that you might be hanged for what you did 
to-day ?"' 

"What did I do, sir?" 

" You robbed the post-office." 

" How did I rob it, sir ?" 

" You took two letters that you had no right to." 

" It's no robbery for a man to get the worth of his money." 

" Will you hold your tongue you stupid villain ! I'm not 
joking: you absolutely might be hanged for robbing the 

" Sure I didn't know there was any harm in what I done ; 
and for that matther sure, if they're sitch wonderful value, 
can't I go back again wid 'em ?" 

"No, you thief! I hope you've not said a word to any one 
about it." 

" Not the sign of a word passed my lips about it.'' 

"You're sure?" 


" Take care, then, that you never open your mouth to 
mortal about it, or you'll be hanged, as sure as your name is 
Andy Rooney." 

" Oh ! at that rate I never will. But may be your honour 
thinks I ought to be hanged ?" 

" No, — because you did not intend to do a wrong thing ; 
but, only I have "pity on you, I could hang you to-morrow 
for what have you done." 

" Thank you, sir." 

" I've burnt the letters, so no one can know anything about 
the business unless you tell on yourself: so remember, — not 
a word." 

" Faith, 111 be dumb as the dumb baste." 

" Go now ; and once for all, remember you'll be hanged so 
eure as you ever mention one word about this affair." 

Andy made a bow and a scrape, and left the squire, who 
hoped the secret was safe. He then took a ruminating walk 
round the pleasure-grounds, revolving plans of retaliation upon 
his false friend O'Grady ; and having determined to put the 
most severe and sudden measure of the law in force against 
him, for the money in which he was indebted to him, he only 
awaited the arrival of Murtough Murphy from Dublin to 
execute his vengeance. Having settled this in his own mind, 
he became more contented, and said, with a self-satisfied nod 
of the head, "We'll see who's the spoon." 

In a lew days Murtough Murphy returned from Dublin, 


and to Merryvale he immediately proceeded. The squire 
opened to him directly his intention of commencing hostile law 
proceedings against O'Grady, and asked what most summary 
measures could be put in practice against, him. 

" Oh ! various, various, my dear squire," said Murphy ; 
" but I don't see any great use in doing so yet — he has not 
openly avowed himself." 

" But does he not intend to coalesce with the other party F" 

" I believe so — that is, if he's to get the pension." 

" Well, and that's as good as done, you know j for if they 
want him, the pension is easily managed.' 

" I am not so sure of that. 

" Why, they're as plenty as blackberries. 

" Very true ; but, you see, Lord Gobblestown swallows all the 
pensions for his own family ; and there are a great many com- 
plaints in the market against him for plucking that blackberry- 
bush very bare indeed; and unless Sack Scatterbrain has 
Btvingeing interest, the pension may not be such an easy thing. 

" But still O'Grady has shown himself not my friend." 

" My dear squire, don't be so hot ; he has not shown himself 

" Well, but he means it." 

" My dear squire, you oughtn't to jump at a conclusion aa 
you would at a twelve-foot drain or a five-bar gate." 

" Well, he's a blackguard !" 

" No denying it ; and therefore keep him on your side ii 
you can, or he'll be a troublesome customer on the other." 

' I'll keep no terms with him ; — I'll slap at him directly. 
What can you do that's wickedest ? — latitat, capias— fee-faw- 
fum, or whatever you call it?'' 

" Halloo ! squire, you're overrunning your game : may be, 
after all, he won't join the Scatterbrains, and" — 

" I tell you it's no matter ; he intended doing it, and that's 
all the same. I'll slap at him — I'll blister him !" 

Murtough Murphy wondered at this blind fury of the 
squire, who, being a good-humoured and good-natured fellow in 
general, puzzled the attorney the more by his present manifest 
malignity against O'Grady. But he had not seen the turn-over 
of the letter : he had not seen " spoon," — the real and secret 
cause of the " war-to-the-knife " spirit which was kindled in 
the squire's breast. 

" Of course, you can do what you please ; but, if you'd take 
a friend's advice" — 

" I tell you I'll blister him." 

" Jie certainly bled you very freely." 


* Til blister him, I tell you, and that smart. Lose no time, 
Murphy, my boy : let loose the dogs of law on him, and harass 
him till he'd wish the d — 1 had him." 

" Just as you like, but" — 

" I'll have it my own way, I tell you ; so say no more." 

" I'll commence against him at once, then, as you wish it . 
but it's no use, for you know very well that it will be impossible 
to serve him." 

" Let me alone for that ! I'll be bound I'll find fellows to 
get the inside of him." 

" Why, his house is barricaded like a jail, and he has dogs 
enough to bait all the bulls in the country." 

"No matter: just send me the blister for him, and I'll 
engage I'll stick it on him." 

" Very well, squire ; you shall have the blister as soon as it 
can be got ready. I'll tell you whenever you may send over 
to me for it, and your messenger shall have it hot and warm 
for him. Good bye, squire." 

" Good bye, Murphy ! — lose no time." 

" In the twinkling of a bedpost. Are you going to Tom 
Durfy's steeple-chase ?" 

" I'm not sure." 

"I've a bet on it. Did you see the "Widow Flannagan 
lately ? You didn't ? They say Tom's pushing it strong there. 
The widow has money, you know, and Tom does it all for the 
the love o' God ; for you know, squire, there are two things 
God hates — a coward and a poor man. Now, Tom's no coward ; 
and, that he may be sure of the love o' God on the other score, 
he's making up to the widow ; and as he's a slashing fellow, 
she's nothing loth, and, for fear of any one cutting him out, 
Tom keeps as sharp a look-out after her as she does after him 
He's fierce on it, and looks pistols at any one that attempts 
putting his comether on the widow, while she looks " as soon 
as you plaze," as plain as an optical lecture can enlighten the 
heart of man : in short, Tom's all ram's horns, and the widow 
all sheep's eyes. Good bye, squire." And Murtough put 
6purs to his horse, and cantered down the avenue, whistling the 
last popular tune. 

Andy was sent over to Murtough Murphy's for the law- 
process at the appointed time ; and as he had to pass through 
the village, Mrs. Egan desired him to call at the apothecary's 
for some medicine that was prescribed for one of the children. 
" What'll 1 ax for, ma'am ?" 

''I'd be sorry to trust to you, Andy, for remembering. 
Here's the prescription ; take great care of it, and Mr. M' Garry 


will give you something to bring back ; and mind, if it's tt 
powder" — 

" Is it gunpowdher, ma'am ?" 

" No — you stupid — will you listen? I say, if it's a powder, 
don't let it get wet, as you did the sugar the other day." 

" No, ma'am." 

"And if it's a bottle, don't break it, as you did the last." 

" No, ma'am." 

" And make haste." 

" Yis, ma'am ;" and off went Andy. 

In going through the village, he forgot to leave the pre- 
scription at the apothecary's, and pushed on for the attorney's : 
there he saw Murtough Murphy, who handed him the law 
process, inclosed in a cover, with a note to the squire. 

" Have you been doing anything very clever lately, Andy r" 
said Murtough. 

" I don't know, sir," said Andy. 

"Did you shoot any one with soda-water since I saw you 

Andy grinned. 

" Did you kill any more dogs lately, Andy ?" 

" Faix, you're too hard on me, sir : sure I never killed but 
one dog, and that was an accident " — 

"An accident! — curse your impudence, you thief! Do 
you think, if you killed one of the pack on purpose, we 
wouldn't cut the very heart out o' you with our hunting- 
whips ?" 

" Faith, I wouldn't doubt you, sir ; but, sure, how could I 
help that divil of a mare runnin' away wid me, and thrampliN* 
the dogs ?" 

" Why did'nt you hold her, you thief?" 

" Hould her, indeed ! — you just might as well expect to stop 
fire among flax as that one." 

"Well, be off with you now, Andy ; and take care of what 
I gave you for the squire." 

" Oh, never fear, sir," said Andy, as he turned his horse's 
head homewards. He stopped at the apothecary's in the village, 
to execute his commission for the " misthis." On telling the 
son of Galen that he wanted some physic "for one o' the 
childre up at the big house," the dispenser of the healing art 
asked what physic he wanted. 

" Faith, I dunna what physic." 

"What's the matter with the child ?" 

" He's sick, sir." 

" I suppose so, indeed, or you wouldn't be sent for medicine 


lou're always making some blunder. You come here, and 
don't know what description of medicine is wanted." 

" Don't I ?" said Andy, with a great air. 

" No, you don't, you omadhaun !" said the apothecary. 

Andy fumbled in his pockets, and could not lay hold of the 
paper his mistress entrusted him with, until he had emptied 
theni thoroughly of their contents upon the counter of the 
shop ; and then, taking the prescription from the collection, he 
said, " So you tell me I don't know the description of the 
physic I'm to get. Now, you see, you're out ; for that s the 
description /" and he slapped the counter impressively with his 
hand as he threw down the recipe before the apothecary. 

While the medicine was in the course of preparation for 
Andy, he commenced restoring to his pockets the various 
parcels he had taken from them in hunting for the recipe. 
Now, it happened that he had laid them down close beside 
some articles that were compounded, and sealed up for going 
out, on the apothecary's counter : and as the law process 
which Andy had received from Murtough Murphy chanced to 
resemble in form another inclosure that lay beside it, contain- 
ing a blister, Andy, under the influence of his peculiar genius, 
popped the blister into his pocket instead of the packet which 
had been confided to him by the attorney, and having obtained 
the necessary medicine from M'Garry, rode home with great 
self-complacency that he had not forgot to do a single thing 
that had been entrusted to him. " I'm all right this time," said 
Andy to himself. 

Scarcely had he left the apothecary's shop when another 
messenger alighted at its door, and asked " If Squire O' Grady's 
things was ready ?" 

" There they are," said the innocent M'Garry, pointing to 
the bottles,, boxes, and blister, he had made up and set aside, 
little dreaming that the blister had been exchanged for a law 
process : and Squire O'Grady'sown messenger popped into his 
pocket the legal instrument that it was as much as any seven 
men's lives were worth to bring within gunshot of Neck-or- 
nothing Hall. 

Home he went, and the sound of the old gate creaking on 
its hinges at the entrance to the avenue awoke the deep- 
mouthed dogs around the house, who rushed infuriate to the 
spot to devour the unholy intruder on the peace and privacy of 
the patrician O'Grady ; but they recognised the old grey hack 
and his rider, and quietly wagged their tails and trotted back., 
and licked their lips at the thoughts of the bailiff they had 
hoped to eat. The door of Neck-or-nothing Hall was care- 


fully unbarred and unchained, and the nurse-tender was 
handed the parcel from the apothecary's, and re-ascended to 
the sick room with slippered foot as quietly as she could; for 
the renowned O' Grady was, according to her account, " as 
cross as two sticks ;" and she protested, furthermore, " that her 
heart was grey with him." 

Whenever O' Grady was in a bad humour, he had a stranga 
fashion of catching at some word that either he himself, or 
those with whom he spoke, had uttered, and after often repeat- 
ing it, or rather mumbling it over in his mouth, as if he were 
chewing it, off he started into a canter of ridiculous rhymes to 
the aforesaid word, and sometimes one of these rhymes would 
suggest a new idea, or some strange association which had the 
oddest effect possible : and to increase the absurdity, the jingle 
was gone through with as much solemnity as if he were 
indulging in a deep and interesting reverie, so that it was 
difficult to listen without laughing, which might prove a serious 
matter when O'Grady was in one of his tantarums, as his wife 
used to call them. 

Mrs. O'Grady was near the bed of the sick man as the 
nurse-tender entered. 

"Here's the things for your honour, now," said she, in her 
most soothing tone. 

" I wish the d — 1 had you and them !" said O'Grady. 

" Gusty dear ! " said his wife. (She might have said stormy 
instead of gusty.) 

" Oh ! they'll do you good, your honour," said the nurse- 
tender, curtsying, and uncorking bottles, and opening a pill- 

O'Grady made a face at the pill-box, and repeated the word 
"pills" several times, with an expression of extreme disgust. 
" Pills — pills — kills — wills — ay — make your wills — make them 
— take them — shakd them. "When taken — to be well shaken — 
shew me that bottle." 

The nurse-tender handed a phial, which O'Grady shook 

" Curse them all !" said the squire. " A pretty thing to 
have a gentleman's body made a perfect sink, for these black- 
guard doctors and apothecaries to pour their dirty drugs into 
— faugh ! — drugs — mugs— jugs !" he shook the phial again, and 
looked through it. 

" Isn't it nice and pink, darlin' ?" said the nurse-tender. 

"Pink!" said O'Grady, eying her askance, as if he could 
have eaten her. " Pink, you old besom, pink" — he uncorked 
the phial, and put it to his nose. "Pink — phew!" and he 


repeated a rhyme to pink which would not look well ii» 

" Now, sir, dear, there's a little blisther just to go on your 
chest — if you plaze'' — ■ 


" A warm plasther, dear." 

" A Mister you said, you old divil f 

" Well, sure it's something to relieve you." 

The squire gave a deep growl, and his wife put in the usual 
appeal of " Gusty, dear !" 

"Hold your tongue, will you? How would you like itf 
I wish you had it on your" — 

" Deed-an-deed, dear," said the nurse-tender. 

" Ey the 'ternal war ! if you say another word, I'll throw 
the jug at you !" 

" And there's a nice dhrop o' gruel I have on the fire for 
you," said the nurse, pretending not to mind the rising anger 
of the squire, as she stirred the gruel with one hand, while with 
the other she marked herself with the sign of the cross, and 
said, in a mumbling manner, " God presarve us ! he's the most 
cantankerous Christian I ever kem across !" 

" Shew me that infernal thing !" said the squire. 

" What thing, dear ?" 

" You know well enough, you old hag ! — that blackguard 

" Here it is, dear. Now, just open the hurst o' your shirt, 
and let me put it an you." 

" Give it into my hand here, and let me see it." 

" Sartinly, sir ; — but I think, if you'd let me just" — 

" Give it to me, I tell you !" said the squire, in a tone so 
fierce that the nurse paused in her unfolding of the packet, and 
handed it with fear and trembling to the already indignant 
O'Grady. But it is only imagination can figure the outrageous 
fury of the squire when, on opening the envelope with his own 
hand, he beheld the law process before him. There, in the 
heart of his castle, with his bars, and bolts, and bull-dogs, and 
blunderbusses around him, he was served — absolutely served— 
and he had no doubt the nurse-tender was bribed to betray him. 

A roar and a jump up in bed, first startled his wife into 
terror, and put the nurse on the defensive. 

" You infernal old strap !" shouted he, as he clutched up a 
handful of bottles on the table near him and flung them at tha 
nurse, who was near the fire at the time ; and she whipped the 
pot of gruel from the grate, and converted it into a means of 
defence against the phial-pelting storm. 


Mrs. 'Grady rolled herself up in the bed-curtains, while the 
nurse screeched " Murther !" and at last, when O'Grady saw 
that bottles were of no avail, he scrambled out of bed, shout- 
ing, " Where's my blunderbuss ?" and the nurse-tender ,_ whde 
he endeavoured to get it down from the rack where it was 
suspended over the mantel-piece, bolted out of the door, and 
ran to the most remote corner of the house for shelter. 

In the meantime, how fared it at Merry vale. Andy returned 
with his parcel for the squire, and his note from Murtough 
Murphy, which ran thus : — 

"My Deak Squire, — I send you the blister for O' Grady, 
as you insist on it ; but I think you won't find it easy to serve 
him with it. — Your obedient and obliged, 

Murtough Murphy. 

" To Edward Egan, Esq., Merryvale." 

The squire opened the cover, and when he saw a real 
instead of a figurative blister, grew crimsonwith rage. He 
could not speak for some minutes, his indignation was so exces- 
sive. " So," said he at last, " Mr. Murtough Murphy, you 
think to cut your jokes with me, do you ? By all that's sacred, 
I'll cut such a joke on you with the biggest horsewhip I can 
find, that you'll remember it. ' Dear Squire, I send you the 
blister.' Bad luck to your impidence ! Wait till awhile ago — 
that's all. By this and that, you'll get such a blistering from 
me, that all the spermaceti m M'Garry's shop won't cure you." 


Squire Egan was as good as his word. He picked out the 
most suitable horsewhip for chastising the fancied impertinence 
of Murtough Murphy ; and as he switched it up and down 
with a powerful arm, to try its weight and pliancy, the whis- 
tling of the instrument through the air was music to his ears, 
and whispered of promised joy in the flagellation of the jocular 

" We'll see who can make the sorest blister," said the squire. 
" I'll back whalebone against Spanish flies any day. Will you 


bet, Dick?" said he to his brother-in-law, who was a wild, hel- 
ter-skelter sort of fellow, better known over the country aa 
Dick the Divil than Dick Dawson. 

" I'll back your bet, Ned."_ 

" There's no fun in that Dick, as there is nobody to take it 

" May be Murtough will. Ask him before you thrash him : 
you'd better." 

" As for him" said the squire, " I'll be bound he'll back my 
bet after he gets a taste o' this;" and the horsewhip whistled 
as he spoke. 

" I think he had better take care of his back than his bet, 
said Dick, as he followed the squire to the hall-door, where his 
horse was in waiting for him, under the care of the renowned 
Andy, who little dreamed of the extensive harvest of mischief 
which was ripening in futurity, all from his sowing. 

" Don't kill him quite, Ned," said Dick, as the squire 
mounted to his saddle. 

" Why, if I went to horsewhip a gentleman, of course I 
should only shake my whip at him ; but an attorney is another 
affair. And, as I'm sure he'll have an action against me for 
assault, I think I may as well get the worth o' my money out 
of him, to say nothing of teaching him better manners for the 
future than to play off his jokes on his employers." With 
these words off he rode in search of the devoted Murtough, 
who was not at home when the squire reached his house ; but 
as he was returning through the village, he espied him coming 
down the street in company with Tom Durfy and the widow, 
who were laughing heartily at some joke Murtough was 
telling them, which seemed to amuse him as much as his 

" I'll make him laugh at the wrong side of his mouth," 
thought the squire, alighting and giving his horse to the care 
of one of the little ragged boys who were idling in the street. 
He approached Murphy with a very threatening aspect, and 
confronting him and his party so as to produce a halt, he said, 
as distinctly as his rage would permit him to speak, " You 
little insignificant blackguard, I'll teach you how you'll cut 
your jokes on me again ; Til blister you, my buck ! " and laying 
hands on the astonished Murtough with the last word, he began 
a very smart horsewhipping of the attorney. The widow 
screamed, Tom Durfy swore, and Murtough roared, with some 
inter jectional curses. At last he escaped from the squire's 
grip, leaving the lappel of his coat in his possession ; and Tom 
Durfy interposed his person between them when he saw an 


intention on the part of the flagellator to repeat his dose of 

" Let me at him, sir, or by" — 

" Fie, fie, squire ! — to horsewhip a gentleman like a cart- 

" A gentleman ! — an attorney you mean " 

" I say a gentleman, Squire Egan," cried Murtough fiercely, 
roused to gallantry by the presence of a lady, and smarting 
under a sense of injury and whalebone. " I'm a gentleman v 
sir, and demand the satisfaction of a gentleman. I put my 
honour into your hands, Mr. Durfy." 

" Between his finger and thumb, you mean, for there's not 
a handful of it," said the squire. 

"Well,_sir," replied Tom Durfy, "little or much, I'll take 
charge of it. That's right, my cock," said he to Murtough, 
who, notwithstanding his desire to assume a warlike air, could 
not resist the natural impulse of rubbing his back and shoulders, 
which tingled with pain, while he exclaimed, " Satisfaction ! 
satisfaction ! " 

" Very well," said the squire, " you name yourself as Mr. 
Murphy's friend ? " added he to Durfy. 

" The same, sir," said Tom. " Whom do you name as 
yours ? " 

" I suppose you know one Dick the Divil?" 

" A very proper person, sir ; — no better : I'll go to him 

The widow clung to Tom's arm, and. looking tenderly al 
him, cried, " Oh, Tom, Tom, take care of your precious life ! " 

"Bother!" said Tom. 

" Ah, Squire Egan, don't be so bloodthirsty ! " 

" Fudge, woman ! " said the squire. 

" Ah, Mr. Murphy, I'm sure the squire's very sorry for 
beating you." 

" Divil a bit," said the squire. 

" There, ma'am," said Murphy, " you see he'll make no 

" Apology ! " said Durfy, " apology for a horsewhipping, 
indeed! Nothing but handing a horsewhip (which I wouldn't 
ask any gentleman to do), or a shot, can settle the matter." 

" Oh, Tom ! Tom ! Tom ! " said the widow. 

" Ba ! ba! ba;" shouted Tom, making a crying face at her. 
'Arrah, woman, don't be makin' a fool o' yourself. Go in 
to the 'pothecary's, and get something under yoxir nose to 
sevive you ; and let us mind our own business '' 

The widow with her eyss turned u 


to Heaven, was retiring to M'Garry's shop, wringing her 
hands, when she was nearly knocked down by M'Garry 
himself, who rushed from his own door, at the same moment 
that an awful smash of his shop window and the demolition of 
his blue and red bottles alarmed the ears of the bystanders, 
while their eyes were drawn from the late belligerent parties 
to a chase which took place down the street, of the apothecary, 
roaring " Murder ! " followed by Squire O'Grady with an 
enormous cudgel. 

O'Grady believing that M'Garry and the nurse-tender had 
combined to serve him with a writ, determined to wreak 
double vengeance on the apothecary, as the nurse had escaped 
him ; and, notwithstanding all his illness and the appeals of his 
wife, he left his bed and rode to the village, to " break every 
bone in M'Garry's skin." When he entered the shop, the 
pharmacopolist was much surprised, and said, with a con- 
gratulatory grin at the great man, "Dear me, Squire O'Grady, 
I'm delighted to see you." 

" Are you, you scoundrel ! " said the squire, making a blow 
of his cudgel at him, which was fended off by an iron pestle 
the apothecary fortunately had in his hand. The enraged 
O'Grady made a rush behind the counter, which the apothecary 
nimbly jumped over, crying "Murder!" as he made for the 
door, followed by his pursuer, who gave a back-handed slap at 
the window -bottles en passant, and produced the crash which 
astonished the widow, who now joined her screams to the 
general hue and cry; for an indiscriminate chase of all the 
ragamuffins in the town, with barking curs and screeching 
children followed the flight of M'Garry and the pursuing squire 

" What the divil is all thisabout?" said Tom Durfy, laughing, 
" By the powers ! I suppose there's something in the weather 
to produce all this fun — though it's early in the year to begin 
thrashing, for the harvest isn't in yet. But, however, let us 
manage our little affair, now that we're left in peace and 
quietness, for the blackguards are all over the bridge after the 
hunt. I'll go to Dick the Divil immediately, squire, and 
arrange time and place." 

" There's nothing like saving time and trouble on these 
occasions," said the squire. "Dick is at my house, I can 
arrange time and place with you this minute, and he will be on 
the ground with me." 

" Very well," said Tom ; "where is it to be?" 

" Suppose we say the cross-roads, halfway between this 
and Merryvale ? There's very pretty ground there, and we 
shall be able to get our pistols and all that ready in the mean 


time between this and four o'clock — and it will be plea^antcr 
to have it all over before dinner." 

" Certainly, squire," said Tom Durfy ; " we'll be there at 
four. Till then, good morning, squire ;" and he and his man 
walked off. 

The widow, in the mean time, had been left to the care of 
the apothecary's boy, whose tender mercies were now, for the 
first time in his life, demanded towards a fainting lady ; for 
the poor, raw country lad, having to do with a sturdy peasantry 
in every day matters, had never before seen the capers cut by 
a lady who thinks it proper, and delicate, and becoming, to 
display her sensibility in a swoon ; and truly her sobs, and 
small screeches, and little stampings and kickings, amazed 
young gallipot. Smelling salts were applied ; — they were 
rather weak, so the widow inhaled the pleasing odour with 
a sigh, but did not recover. Sal volatile was next put into 
requisition ; — this was something stronger, and made her 
wriggle on her chair, and throw her head al)out with sundry 
" Ohs ! " and " Ahs ! " The boy, beginning to be alarmed at 
the extent of the widow's syncope, bethought himself of 
assafcetida ; and, taking down a goodly bottle of that sweet- 
smelling stimulant, gave the widow the benefit of the whole 
jar under her nose. Scarcely had the stopper been withdrawn, 
when she gave a louder screech than she had yet executed, 
and exclaming " Faugh ! '' with an expression of the most 
concentrated disgust, opened her eyes fiercely upon the offen- 
der, and shut up her nose between her forefinger and thumb 
against the offence, and snuffled forth at the astonished boy, 
" Get out o' that, you dirty cur ! Can't you let a lady faint 
in peace and quietness ? Gracious Heavens ! would you 
smother me, you nasty brute ? Oh, Tom, where are you ? " 
and she took to sobbing forth " Tom ! Tom ! " and put hei 
handkerchief to her eyes, to hide the tears that were not there, 
while from behind the corner of the cambric she kept a sharp 
eye on the street, and observed what was going on. She went 
on acting her part very becomingly, until the moment Tom 
Durfy walked off with Murphy ; but then she could feign no 
longer, and jumping up from her seat, with an exclamation of 
" The brute ! " she ran to the door, and looked down the street 
after them. " The savage ! '' sobbed the widow; "the hard- 
hearted monster ! to abandon me here to die — oh ! to use me 
so — to leave me like a — like a" — (the widow was fond of 
eimilies) — " like an old shoe — like a dirty glove — like a — like 
I don't know what ! " (the usual fate of similies.) " Mister 
Durfy, I'll punish you for this — I will ! " said the widow, with 


bu energetic emphasis on the last word ; and she marched out 
of the shop, boiling over with indignation, through which, 
nevertheless, a little bubble of love now and then rose to the 
surface; and by the time she reached her own door, love 
predominated, and she sighed as she laid her hand on the 
knocker : " After all, if the dear fellow should be killed, what 
would become of me ! — oh ! — and that wretch, Dick Dawson, 
too — two of them. The worst of these merry devils is they are 
always fighting." 

The squire had ridden immediately homewards, and told 
Dick Dawson the piece of work that was before them. 

" And so he will have a shot at you, instead of an action ? " 
said Dick. " Well, there's pluck in that : I wish he was more 
Df a gentleman, for your sake. It's dirty work shooting 

"He's enough of a gentleman, Dick, to make it impossible 
for me to refuse him." 

" Certainly, Ned," said Dick. 

" Do you know, is he anything of a shot?" 

" Faith, he makes very pretty snipe shooting ; but I don't 
know if he has experience of the grass before breakfast." 

" You must try and find out from some one on the ground ; 
because, if the poor divil isn't a good shot, I wouldn't like to 
kill him, and I'll let him off easy — I'll give it to him in the pis- 
tol-arm, or so." 

" Very well, Ned. Where are the flutes ? I must look 
over them." 

" Here," said the squire, producing a very handsome maho- 
gany case of Rigby's best. Dick opened the case with the 
utmost care, and took up one of the pistols tenderly, handling 
it as delicately as if it were a young child or a lady's hand. He 
clicked the lock back and forward a few times ; and, his ear not 
being satisfied at the music it produced, he said he should like 
to examine them : " At all events they want a touch of oil." 

" Well, keep them out of the misthriss' sight, Dick, for she 
might be alarmed." 

"Divil a taste," says Dick; "she's a Dawson, and there 
uever was a Dawson yet that did not know men must be men." 

"That's true, Dick. I would not mind so much if she 
wasn't in a delicate situation just now, when it couldn't be 
expected of the woman to be so stout : so go, like a good fol- 
low, into your own room, and Andy will bring you anything 
you want." 

Five minutes after, Dick was engaged in cleaning the duel- 
ling pistols, and Andy at his elbow, with his mouth wide open, 


wondering at the interior of the locks which Dick had just 
taken off. 

" Oh, my heavens ! but that's a quare thing, Misther Dick, 
sir," said Andy, going to take it up. 

" Keep your fingers off it, you thief, do ! " roared Dick, 
making a rap of the turnscrew at Andy's knuckles. 

" Sure, I'll save you the trouble o' rubbin' that, Misther 
Dick, if you let me ; here's the shabby leather." 

" I wouldn't let your clumsy fist near it, Andy, nor your 
shabby leather, you villain, for the world. Go get me some 

Andy went on his errand, and returned with a can of lamp- 
oil to Dick, who swore at him for his stupidity : " The divil fly 
away with you ! — you never do anything right ; you bring me 
lamp-oil for a pistol." 

"Well, sure I thought lamp-oil was the right thing for 

" And who wants to burn it, you savage ?" 

" Aren't you going to fire it, sir ? " 

"Choke you, you vagabond," said Dick, who could not 
resist laughing, nevertheless ; " be off, and get me some sweet 
oil ; but don't tell any one what it's for." 

Andy retired, and Dick pursued his polishing of the locks. 
Why he used such a blundering fellow as Andy for a messen- 
ger might be wondered at, only that Dick was fond of fun, and 
Andy's mistakes were a particular source of amusement to him, 
and on all occasions when he could have Andy in his company 
he made him his attendant. When the sweet oil was produced, 
Dick looked about for a feather ; but, not finding one, desired 
Andy to fetch him a pen. Andy went on his errand, and 
returned, after some delay, with an ink bottle. 

" I brought you the ink, sir ; but I can't find a pin." 

"Confound your numskull! I didn't say a word about 
ink — I asked for a pen." 

" And what use would & pin be without ink, now I sx 
yourself, Misther Dick ?" 

" I'd knock your brains out if you had any, you omadkav.v ! 
Go along, and get me a feather, and make haste." 

Andy went off, and, having obtained a feather, returned to 
Dick, who began to tip certain portions of the lock very deli- 
cately with oil. 

" What's that for, Misther Dick, sir, if you plaze ?" 

" To make it work smooth." 

" And what's that tiling you're grazin' now, sir 1 " 

M That's the tumbler." 


" O Lord I a tumbler — what a quare namo for it. I though! 
there was no tumbler but a tumbler for punch." 

" That's the tumbler you would like to be cleaning the 
inside of, Andy." 

" Thrue for you, sir. And what's that little thing you have 
your hand on now, sir ?" 

" That's the cock." 

" Oh, dear, a cock ! Is tnere e'er a hin in it, sir ?" 

" X7o, nor a chicken either, though there is a feather." 

" °.ihe one in your hand, sir, that you're grazin' it with ?" 

" No : but this little thing — that is called the feather- 

" It's the feather, I suppose, makes it let fly." 

" No doubt of it, Andy." 

" Well, there's some sinse in that name, then ; but who'd 
think of sitch a thing as a tumbler and a cock in a pistle ? 
A.nd what's that place that opens and shuts, sir ?" 

" The pan." 

" Well, there's sinse in that name too, bekase there's fire in 
the thing ; and its as nath'ral to say pan to that as to a fryin'- 
pan — isn't it, Misther Dick ?" 

" Oh ! there was a great gunmaker lost in you, Andy," said 
Dick, as he screwed on the locks, which he had regulated to 
his mind, and began to examine the various departments of the 
pistol-case, to see that it was properly provided. He took the 
instrument to cut some circles of thin leather, and Andy again 
asked him for the name o' that thing ? 

" This is called the punch, Andy." 

" So there is the punch as well as the tumbler, sir." 

" Ay, and very strong punch it is, you "see, Andy ;" and 
Dick struck it with his little mahogany mallet, and cut his 
patches of leather. 

" And what's that for, sir ? — the leather I mane." 

" That's for putting round the ball." 

" Is it for fear 'twould hurt him too much when you hot 

" You're a queer customer, Andy," said Dick, smiling. 

" And what weeshee little balls thim is, sir." 

" They are always small for duelling-pistols." 

"Oh, then thim is jewellin' pistles. Why, musha, Misther 
Dick, is it goin' to fight a jule you are ?" said Andy, looking at 
him with earnestness. 

" No, Andy, but the master is ; but don't say a word about 

" Not a word for the world. The masther's goin' to fight ! 


God send him safe out iv it ! amin. And who is he going to 

fight, Misther Dick ?" 

" Murphy, the attorney, Andy." 

" Oh, won't the masther disgrace himself by fightin' the 
torney ?" 

" How dare you say such a thing of your master ?'' 

" I ax your pard'n, Misther Dick : but sure you know 
ivhat I mane. I hope he'll shoot him." 

" Why, Andy, Murtough was always very good to you, and 
now you wish him to be shot." 

" Sure, why wouldn't I rather have him kilt more than the 
masther ?'* 

"But neither may be killed." 

"Misther Dick," said Andy, lowering his voice, "would'nt 
it be an iligant thing to put two balls into the pistle instead o' 
one, and give the masther a chance over the 'torney ?" 

" Oh, you murdherous villain !" 

" Arrah ! why shouldn't the masther have a chance over 
him ? — sure he has childre, and 'Torney Murphy has none." 

" At that rate, Andy, I suppose you'd give the masther a 
ball additional for every child he has, and that would make 
eight. So you might as well give him a blunderbuss and slugs 
at once." 

Dick locked the pistol-case, having made all right, and 
desired Andy to mount a horse, carry it by a back road out of 
the demesne, and wait at a certain gate he named until he 
should be joined there by himself and the squire, who proceeded 
at the appointed time to the ground. 

Andy was all ready, and followed his master and Dick with 
great pride, bearing the pistol-case after them to the ground, 
where Murphy and Tom Durfy were ready to receive them; 
and a great number of spectators were assembled, for the noise 
of the business had gone abroad, and the ground was in 
consequence crowded. 

Tom Durfy had warned Murtough Murphy, who had no 
experience as a pistol man, that the squire was a capital shot, 
and that his only chance was to fire as quickly as he could. 
" Slap at him, Morty, my boy, the minute you get the word ; 
and if you don't hit him itself, it will prevent his dwelling on 
his aim." 

Tom Durfy and Dick the Devil soon settled the preliminaries 
of the ground and mode of firing, and twelve paces having 
been marked, both the seconds opened their pistol-cases and 
prepared to load. Andy was close to Dick all the time, kneel- 
jng beside the pistol-case, which lay on the sod; and as Dick 


turned round to settle some other point on which Tom Durfy 
questioned him, Andy thought he might snatch the opportunity 
of giving his master " the chance" he suggested to his second. 
" Sure, if Misther Dick wouldn't like to do it, that's no raison 
I wouldn't," said Andy to himself, " and, by the powers ! I'll 
pop in a ball onknownst to him." And, sure enough, Andy 
contrived, while the seconds were engaged with each other, t& 
put a ball into each pistol before the barrel was loaded with 
powder, so that when Dick took up his pistols to load, a bullet 
lay between the powder and the touch-hole. Now, this must 
have been discovered by Dick had he been cool : but he and 
Tom Durfy had wrangled very much about the point they had 
been discussing, and Dick, at no time the quietest person in 
the world, was in such a rage that the pistols were loaded by 
him without noticing Andy's ingenious interference, and he 
handed a harmless weapon to his brother-in-law when he 
placed him on his ground. 

The word was given. Murtough, following his friend's 
advice, fired instantly — bang he went, while the squire returned 
but a flash in the pan. He turned a look of reproach upon 
Dick, who took the pistol silently from him, and handed him 
the other, having carefully looked to the priming after the 
accident which happened to the first. 

Durfy handed his man another pistol also ; and before he 
left his side, said in a whisper, " Don't forget — have the first 

Again the word was given. Murphy blazed away a rapid 
and harmless shot ; for his hurry was the squire's safety, while 
Andy's murderous intentions were his salvation. 

" D — n the pistol !" said the squire, throwing it down in a 
rage. Dick took it up with manifest indignation, and d — d 
the powder. 

" Your powder's damp, Ned." 

" No, it's not," said the squire, " it's you who have bungled 
the loading." 

" Me !" said Dick, with a look of mingled rage and 
astonishment. " I bungle the loading of pistols ! J, that have 
stepped more ground and arranged more affairs than any man 
in the country ! Arrah, be aisy, Ned !" 

Tom Durfy now interfered, and said for the present it was 
no matter, as, on the part of his friend, he begged to express 
himself satisfied. 

" But it's very hard we're not to have a shot," said Dick, 
poking the touch-hole of the pistol with a pricker, which he had 
just taken from the case which Andy was holding before him. 


"Why, my dear Dick," said Durfy, "as Murphy h&s had 
two shots, and the squire has not had the return of either, he 
declares he will not fire at him again ; and, under these cir- 
cumstances, I must take my man off the ground." 

" Very well," said Dick, still poking the touch-hole, and 
examining the point of the pricker as he withdrew it. 

" And now Murphy wants to know, since the affair is all 
)ver and his honour satisfied, what was your brother-in-law's 
motive in assaulting him this morning, for he himself cannot 
conceive a cause for it." 

' Oh, be aisy, Tom." 

" Ton my soul it's true !" 

"Why, he sent him a blister — a regular apothecary's 
blister — instead of some law process, by way of a joke, and 
Ned wouldn't stand it." 

Durfy held a moment's conversation with Murphy, who now 
advanced to the squire, and begged to assure him there must 
be some mistake in the business, for that he had never com- 
mitted the impertinence of which he was accused. 

" All I know is," said the squire, " that I got a blister, 
which my messenger said you gave him." 

" By virtue of my oath, squire, I never did it ! I gave 
Andy an enclosure of the law process." 

" Then it's some mistake that vagabond has made," said the 
squire. " Come here, you sir !" he shouted to Andy. Now 
Andy at this moment stood trembling under the angry eye of 
Dick the Devil, who, having detected a bit of lead on the point 
of the pricker, guessed in a moment Andy had been at work, 
and the unfortunate rascal, from the furious look of Dick, had 
a misgiving that he had made some blunder. " Why don't 
you come here when I call you ?" said the squire. Andy 
laid down the pistol-case, and sneaked up to the squire. 
"What did you do with the letter Mr. Murphy gave you for 
me yesterday ?" 

" I brought it to your honour " 

" No you didn't/'said Murphy. " You've made some mistake. 

" Divil a mistake I made," answered Andy, very stoutly. 
" I wint home the minit you gev it to me." 

" Did you go home direct from my house to the squire's ?" 

" Yis, sir, I did — I went direct home, and called at Mr. 
M 'Garry's by the way for some physic for the childre." 

" That's it !" said Murtough ; " he changed my inclosure 
for a blister there ; and if M'Garry has only had the luck to 
send the bit o' parchment to O'Grady, it will be the best joke 
I've heard this month of Sundays." 


M He did! he did!" shouted Tom Durfy ; "for don't you 
remember how O'Grady was after M'Garry this morning ? 

" Sure enough," said Murtough, enjoying the double 
mistake. " By dad ! Andy, you've made a mistake this time 
that I'll forgive you." 

" By the powers o' war !" roared Dick the Devil ; " I won't 
forgive him what he did now, though. What do you think ?" 
said he, holding out the pistols, and growing crimson with rage, 
" may I never fire another shot, if he hasn't crammed a brace 
of bullets down the pistols before I loaded them ; so no wonder 
you burned prime, Ned." 

There was a universal laugh at Dick's expense, whose pride 
in being considered the most accomplished regulator of the 
duello was well known. 

" Oh, Dick, Dick ! you're a pretty second !" was shouted 
by all. 

Dick, stung by the laughter, and feeling keenly the 
ridiculous position in which he was placed, made a rush at 
Andy, who, seeing the storm brewing, gradually sneaked 
away from the group, and when he perceived the sudden 
movement of Dick the Devil, took to his heels, with Dick 
after him. 

" Hurra !" cried Murphy, " a race — a race ! I'll bet on 
Andy — five pounds on Andy." 

" Done !" said the squire : " I'll back Dick the Divil." 

" Tare an' ouns !" roared Murphy, " how Andy runs ! 
Fear's a fine spur." 

" So is rage," said the squire. " Dick's hot-foot after Mm. 
Will you double the Let ?" 

"Done !" said Murphy. 

The infection of betting caught the bystanders, and various 
gages were thrown and taken up upon the speed of the runners, 
who were getting rapidly into the distance, flying over hedge 
and ditch with surprising velocity, and from the level nature 
of the ground, an extensive view could not be obtained, there- 
fore Tom Durfy, the steeple-chaser, cried " Mount, mount ! 
or we'll lose the fun — into our saddles, and after them." 

Those who had steeds took the hint, and a numerous field 
of horsemen joined in the pursuit of Handy Andy and Dick 
the Devil, who still maintained great speed. The horsemen 
made for a neighbouring hill, whence they could command a 
wider view ; and the betting went on briskly, varying accord- 
ing to the vicissitudes of the race. 

M Two to one on Dick — he's closing." 

" Done ! Andy will wind him yet." 


" Well done — there's a leap ! Hurra ! Dick's down ! Well 
done, Dick! — up again and going." 

" Mind the next quickset hedge — that's a rasper, its a wide 
gripe, and the hedge is as thick as a wall — Andy'll stick in 
it — mind him — well leap'd, by the powers ! Ha ! he's sticking 
in the hedge — Dick'll catch him now. No, by jingo ! he's 
pushed his way through — there, he's going again on the other 
side. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! look at him — he's in tatters ! he has 
left half of his breeches in the hedge ! " 

" Dick is over now. Hurra ! he has lost the skirt of his 
coat! Andy is gaining on him — two to one on Andy." 

"Down he goes!" was shouted as Andy's foot slipped 
in making a dash at another ditch, into which he went head 
over heels, and Dick followed fast, and disappeared after him. 

"Ride! ride!" shouted Tom Durfy; and the horsemen 
put their spurs into the flanks of their steeds, and were soon 
up to the scene of action. There was Andy, rolling over and 
over in the muddy bottom of a ditch, floundering in rank 
weeds and duck's meat, with Dick fastened on him, pummelling 
away most unmercifully, but not able to kill him altogether, 
for want of breath. 

The horsemen, in a universal screech of laughter, dis- 
mounted, and disengaged the unfortunate Andy from the 
fangs of Dick the Devil, who was dragged out of the ditch 
much more like a scavenger than a gentleman. 

The moment Andy got loose, away he ran again, with 
a rattling "Tally ho!" after him, and he never cried stop 
till he earthed himself under his mother's bed in the parent 

Murtough Murphy characteristically remarked, that the 
affair of the day had taken a very whimsical turn ; — " Here 
are you and I, squire, who went out to shoot each other, safe 
and well, while one of the seconds has come off rather worse 
for the wear ; and a poor devil, who had nothing to say to the 
matter in hand, good, bad, or indifferent, is nearly killed." 

The squire and Murtough then shook hands, and parted 
friends half an hour after they had met as foes; and even 
Dick contrived to forget his annoyance in an extra stoup of 
claret that day after dinner — filling more than one bumper in 
drinking confusion to Handy Andy, which seemed a rather 
unnecessary malediction. 



A. teh the friendly parting of the foes {pro tempore), there 
<r. „s a general scatter of the party who had come to see the duel : 
and how strange is the fact, that as much as human nature is 
prone to shudder at death under the gentlest circumstances, yet 
men will congregate to be its witnesses when violence aggra- 
vates the calamity ! A public execution or a duel is a focus 
where burnii>g curiosity concentrates ; in the latter case, Ireland 
bears the palm for a crowd ; in the former, the annals of the Old 
Bailey can amply t-estify. Ireland has its own interest, too, in 
a place of execution, but not in the same degree as England. 
They have been too used to hanging in Ireland to make it 
piquant : " tovjours perdrix" is a saying which applies in this 
as in many other cases. The gallows, in its palmy days, was 
shorn of its terrors : it became rather a pastime. For the 
victim it was a pastime with a vengeance ; for through it all 
time was past with him. For the rabble who beheld his agony, 
the frequency of the sight had blunted the edge of horror, and 
only sharpened that of unnatural excitement. The great school, 
where law should be the respected master, failed to inspire its 
intended awe; — the legislative lesson became a mockery ; and 
death, instead of frowning with terror, grinned in a fool's cap 
from the scaffold. 

This may be doubted now, when a milder spirit presides in 
the councils of the nation and on the bench ; but those who 
remember Ireland not very long ago, can bear witness how 
lightly life was valued, or death regarded. Illustrative of this, 
one may refer to the story of the two basket- women in Dublin, 
who held gentle converse on the subject of an approaching 

" Won't you go see de man die to-morrow, Judy?" 

" Oh no,'darlin'," said Judy. (By the bye, Judy pronounced 
the n through her nose, and said " do.") 

" Ah do, jewel,'' said her friend. 

Judy again responded "Do." 

" And why won't you go, dear ?" inquired her friend again. 

" I've to wash de child," said Judy. 

" Sure, didn't you wash it last week?" said her friend, is aa 
jcpostulatory tone. 


" Oh, well, I wonH go," said Judy. 

" Throth, Judy, you're ruinirt' your health," said this soft- 
hearted acquaintance ; " dere's a man to die to-morrow, and you 
won't come — augh ! — you rfever take do divarshin !'' 

And wherefore is it thus ? Why should tears hedew the 
couch of him who dies in the bosom of his family, surrounded 
by those who love him, whose pillow is smoothed by the hand 
of filial piety, whose past is without reproach, and whose future 
is bright with hope ? and why should dry eyes behold the 
duellist or the culprit, in whom folly or guilt may be the cause 
of a $?ath on which the seal of censure or infamy may be set, 
and V/hose futurity we must tremble to consider? With more 
reason might we weep for the fate of either of the latter than 
the former, and yet we do not. And why is it so ? If I may 
venture an opinion, it is that nature is violated : a natural death 
demands and receives the natural tribute of tears ; but a death 
of violence falls with a stunning force upon the nerves, and the 
fountain of pity stagnates and will not flow. 

Though there was a general scattering of the persons who 
came to see the duel, still a good many rode homeward with 
Murphy, who, with his second, Tom Durfy, beside him, headed 
the party, as they rode gaily towards the town, and laughed 
over the adventure of Andy and Dick. 

" JN T o one can tell how anything is to finish," said Tom 
Durfy ; " here we came out to have a duel, and, in the end, it 
turned out a hunt.'' 

" I am glad you were not in at my death, however," said 
Murphy, who seemed particularly happy at not being killed. 

" You lost no time in firing, Murtough," said one of his 

"And small blame to me, Billy," answered Murphy; 
" Eg-an is a capital shot, and how did I know but he might take 
it into his head to shoot me? — for he's very hot when roused, 
though as good-natured a fellow in the main as ever broke 
bread ; and yet I don't think, after all, he'd have liked to do me 
much mischief either ; but, you see, he could'nt stand the joke 
he thought I played him." 

" Will you tell us what it was 1" cried another of the party, 
pressing forward, " for we can't make it out exactly, though 
we've heard something of it — wasn't it leeches you sent to him, 
telling him he was a blood-sucking villain ?" 

A roar of laughter from Murtough followed this question, 
" Lord, how a story gets mangled and twisted!'' said he, as 
soon as he could speak. " Leeches ! what an absurdity — no, it 
was " — 


" A bottle of castor oil, wasn't it, by way of a present of 
noyeaup" said another of the party, hurrying- to the front to 
put forward his version of the matter. 

A second shout of laughter from Murphy greeted this third 
edition of the story. " If you will listen to me, I'll give you 
the genuine version,'' said Murtough, "which is better, I 
promise you, than any which invention could supply. The fact 
is, Squire Egan is enraged against O'Grady, and applied to me 
to harass him in the parchment line, swearing he would blister 
him ; and this phrase of blistering occurred so often, that when 
I sent him over a bit o' parchment, which he engaged to have 
served on my bold O'Grady, I wrote to him, ' Dear Squire, I 
send you the blister ;' and that most ingenious of all blunderers, 
Handy Andy, being the bearer, and calling at M'Garry's shop 
on his way home, picked up from the counter a real blister, 
which was folded up in an inclosure, something like the process, 
and left the law-stinger behind him." 
" That's grate !" cried Doyle. 

" Oh, but you have not heard the best of it yet," added 
Murphy. "I am certain the bit of parchment was sent to 
O'Grady, for he was hunting M'Garry this morning through 
the town, with a cudgel of portentous dimensions — put that and 
that together." 

" No mistake ! " cried Doyle ; " and divil pity O'Grady, for 
he's a blustering, swaggering, overbearing, ill-tempered" — 

" Hillo, hillo, Bill ! " interrupted Murphy, " you are too hard 
on the adjectives; besides, you'll spoil your appetite if you ruffle 
your temper, and that would fret me, for I intend you to dine 
with me to-day." 

" Faith an' I'll do that same, Murtough, my boy, and glad 
to be asked, as the old maid said." 

"I'll tell you what it is," said Murphy ; "boys, you must 
all dine with me to-day, and drink long life to me, since I'm 
not killed." 

" There are seventeen of us," said Durfy ; " the little parlor 
won't hold us all." 

"But isn't there a big room at the inn, Tom?" returned 
Murphy, " and not better drink in Ireland than Mrs. Fay's. 
What do you say, lads — one and all — will you dine with me?" 

"Will a duck swim?" chuckled out Jack Horan, an oily 
veteran, who seldom opened his mouth but to put something 
into it, and spared his words as if they were of value ; and to 
make them appear so, he spoke in apophthegms. 

" What say you, James Reddy ?" said Murtough. 
''Ready, sure enough, ami willingtoo!" answered James, 


who was a small wit, and made the aforesaid play upon his 
name at least three hundred and sixty-five- times every year. 

" Oh, we'll all come," was uttered right and left. 

" Good men and true ! " shouted Murphy ; " won't we malie 
the rafters shake, and turn the cellar inside out ! Whoo ! I'm 
in great heart to-day. But who is this powdhering up the 
road ? By the powers ! 'tis the doctor, I think ; 'tis — I know 
his bandy hat over the cloud of dust." 

The individual thus designated as the doctor, now emerged 
from the obscurity in which he had been enveloped, and was 
received with a loud shout by the whole cavalcade as he ap- 
proached them. Both parties drew rein, and the doctor, lifting 
from his head the aforesaid bandy hat, which was slouched over 
one eye, with a sinister droop, made a low obeisance to Murphy, 
and said, with a mock solemnity, "Your servant, sir — and so 
you're not killed?" 

" No," said Murphy ; " and you've lost a job, which I see 
you came to look for — but you're not to have the carving of 
me yet." 

" Considering it's so near Michaelmas, I think you've had a 
great escape, signor," returned the doctor. 

" Sure enough," said Murphy, laughing ; " but you're late 
this time : so you must turn back, and content yourself with 
carving something more innocent than an attorney to-day — 
though at an attorney's cost. You must dine with me." 

" Willingly, signor," said the doctor ; " but pray don't make 
use of the word ' cost.' I hate to hear it out of an attorney's 
mouth — or till, I should say." 

A laugh followed the doctor's pleasantry, but no smile ap- 
peared upon Ms countenance ; for though uttering quaint, and 
often very good, but oftener very bitter, things, he never moved 
a muscle of his face, while others were shaking their sides at 
his sallies. He was, in more ways than one, a remarkable man. 
A massive head, large and rather protruding eyes, lank hair, 
slouching ears, a short neck, and broad shoulders, rather in- 
clined to stooping ; a long body, and short legs, slightly bowed, 
constituted his outward man ; and a lemon-coloured complexion, 
which a residence of some years in the East Indies had pro- 
duced, did not tend to increase his beauty. His mind displayed 
a superior intelligence, original views, contempt of received 
opinions, with a power of satire and ridicule, which rendered 
him a pleasing friend or a dangerous enemy, as the case might 
be ; though, to say the truth, friend and foe were treated with 
nearly equal severity, if a joke or a sarcasm tempted the assault. 
Hia own profession hated him for he unsparingly ridiculed all 


etale practice, which his conviction led him to believe was in- 
efficient, and he daringly introduced fresh, to the no small 
indignation of the more cut and dry, portion of the faculty, for 
whose hate he returned contempt, of which he made no secret. 
From an extreme coarseness of manner, even those who believed 
in his skill were afraid to trust to his humour : and the dislike 
of his brother practitioners to meet him superadded to this, 
damaged his interest considerably, and prevented his being 
called in until extreme danger frightened patients, or their 
friends, into sending for Doctor Growling. His carelessness in 
dress, too, inspired disgust in the fair portion of the creation ; 
and " snuffy," and " dirty," " savage," and " brute," were 
among the sweet words they applied to him. 

Nevertheless, those who loved a joke more than they feared 
a hit, would run the risk of an occasional thrust of the doctor's 
stiletto, for the sake of enjoying the mangling he gave other 
people ; and such rollicking fellows as Murphy, and Durfy, 
and Dawson, and Squire Egan, petted this social hedgehog. 

The doctor now turned his horse's head, and joined the 
cavalcade to the town. " I have blown my Bosinante," said 
he ; "I was in such a hurry to see the fun." 

" Yes," said Murphy, " he smokes." 

" And his master takes snuff," said the doctor, suiting the 
action to the word. " I suppose, signor, you were thinking a 
little while ago that the squire might serve an ejectment on 
your vitality?" 

" Or that in the trial between us I might get damages,* 
eaid Murphy. 

" There is a difference, in such case," said the doctor, " be- 
tween a court of law and the court of honour; for in the 
former, the man is plaintiff before he gets his damages, while 
in the latter, it is after he gets his damages that he complains." 

" I'm glad my term is not ended, however," said Murphy. 

" If it had been," said the doctor, " I think you'd have had 
a long vacation in limbo." 

" And suppose I had been hit," said Murphy, " you would 
have been late on the ground. You're a pretty friend ! " 

" It's my luck, sir," said the doctor ; " I'm always late for a 
job. By the bye, I'll tell you an amusing fact of that musty 
piece of humanity, Miss Jinkins. Her niece was dangerously 
ill, and she had that licensed slaughterer from Killanmaul, 
trying to tinker her up, till the poor girl was past all hope, and 
then she sends for me. She swore, some time ago, I shall 
never darken her doors, but when she began to apprehend that 
death was rather a darker gentleman than I, she tolerated my 



person. The old crocodile met me in the hall — by the bye, did 
you ever remark she's like a crocodile, only not with so pleasing 
an expression? — and wringing- her hands she cried, 'Oh, doctor, 
I'll be bound to you for ever!' — I hope not, thought I to myself. 
Save my Jemima, doctor, and there's nothing I Won't do to 
prove my gratitude.' 'Is she long ill, ma'am?' said I. 'A 
fortnight, doctor.' ' I wish I had been called in sooner, ma'am,' 
says I — for, 'pon my conscience, Murphy, it is too ridiculous 
the way the people go on about me. I verily believe they think 
I can raise people out of their graves ; and they call me in to 
repair the damages disease and the doctors have been making ; 
and while the gentlemen in black silk stockings, with gold- 
lieaded canes, have been fobbing fees for three weeks, perhaps, 
they call in poor Jack Growling, who scorns jack-a-dandyism, 
and he gets a solitary guinea foi mending the bungling that 
cost something to the tune of twenty or thirty perhaps. And 
when I have plucked them from the jaws of death — regularly 
cheated the sexton out of them — the best word they have for 
me is to call me a pig, or abuse my boots, or wonder that the 
doctor is not more particular about his linen — the fools 1 But 
to return to my gentle crocodile. I was shown upstairs to the 
sick room, and there, sir, I saw the unfortunate girl, speechless, 
at the last gasp absolutely. The Killanmaul dandy had left 
her to die — absolutely given her up ; and then, indeed, I'm sent 
for ! Well, I was in a rage, and was rushing out of the house, 
when the crocodile waylaid me in the hall. ' Oh, doctor, won't 
you do something for my Jemima?* ' I can't ma'am,' says I; 
' but Mr. Fogarty can.' ' Mister Fogarty ! ' says she. ' Yes, 
ma'am,' says I. 'You have mistaken my profession, Miss Jinkin 
— I'm a doctor, ma'am ; but I suppose you took me for an 
undertaker !' " 

" Well, you hit her hard, doctor," said Murphy. 

" Sir, you might as well hit a rhinoceros," returned the 

"When shall we dine?" asked Jack Horan. 

" As soon as Mrs. Fay can let us have the eatables," answered 
Murphy: "and, by the bye, Jack, I leave the ordering of the 
dinner to you, for no man understands better how to do that 
same ; besides, I want to leave my horse in my own stable, and 
I'll be up at the inn, after you, in a brace of shakes." 

The troop now approached the town. Those who lived 
ttiere rode to their own stables, and returned to the party at 
Mrs. Fay's : while they who resided at a distance dismounted 
at the door of the inn, which soon became a scene of bustle in 
all its departments from this large influx of guests, and the 


preparation for the dinner, exceeding- in scale what Mrs. Fay 
Was generally called upon to provide, except when the assizes, 
or races, or other such cause of commotion, demanded all the 
resources of her establishment, and more, if she had them. So 
the Dinnys, and the Tims, and the Mickeys, were rubbing 
down horses, cleaning- knives, or drawing forth extra tables 
from their dusty repose; and the Biddys, and Judys, and 
IVellys, were washing up plates, scouring pans, and brighten- 
ing up extra candlesticks, or doing deeds of doom in the poultry 
yard, where an audible commotion gave token of the prematur& 
deaths of sundry supernumerary chickens. 

Murphy soon joined his guests, grinning from ear to ear, 
and rubbing his hands as he entered. 

"Great news, boys," said he; "who do you think was at 
my house, when I got home, but M'Garry, with his head 
bandaged up, and his whole body, as he declares, bearing black 
and blue testimony to the merciless attack of the bold O'Grady, 
against whom he swears he'll bring an action for assault and 
battery. Now, boys, I thought it would be great fun to have 
him here to dinner — it's as good as a play to hear him describe 
the thrashing — so I asked him to come. He said he was not in 
a fit state to dine out ; but I egged him on by saying that a 
sight of him in his present plight would excite sympathy for 
him, and stir up public feeling against O'Grady, and that all 
would tell in the action, as most likely some of the present 
company might be on the jury, and would be the better able to 
judge how far he was entitled to damages, from witnessing the 
severity of the injury he had received. So he's coming; and 
mind, you must all be deeply affected at his sufferings, and 
impressed with the powerful description he gives of the same." 

" Very scientific, of course," said old Growling. 

" Extensively so," returned Murphy ; " he laid on the Latin 

"Yes — the fool!" growled the doctor; "he can't help 
sporting it even on me. I went into his shop one day, and 
asked for some opium wine, and he could not resist calling it 
vinum opii as he banded it to me." 

" We'll make him a martyr !" cried Durfy. 

" We'll make him dhrunk !" said Jack Horan, " and that 
will be better. He brags that he never was what he calls 
' inebriated' in his life ; and it will be great fun to send him 
home on a door, with a note to his wife, who is proud of his 

As they spoke, M'Garry entered, his head freshly bound up, 
to look as genteel as possible amongst the gentlemen wit, v 


whom he was to have the honour ot dining-. His wife had 
suggested a pink ribbon, but M'Garry, while he acknowledged 
his wife's superior taste, said black would look more professional. 
The odd fellows to whom he had now committed himself, 
crowded round him, and in the most exaggerated phrases, 
implied the high sense they entertained of his wrongs, and 
O'Grady's aggression. 

" Unprovoked attack !" cried one. 

" Savage ruffian !" ejaculated another. 

" What atrocity !" said a third. 

" What dignified composure !" added a fourth, in an audible 
whisper, meant for M'Garry's ear. 

" Gentlemen !" said the apothecary, flurried at the extreme 
attention of which he became the object ; "I. beg to assure you 
I am deeply— that is— this proof of— of— of— of symptoms- 
gentlemen — I mean sympathy, gentlemen — in short, I really" — 

" The fact is," said Growling, " I see Mr. M'Garry is rather 
shaken in nerve — whether from loss of blood or " — 

" I have lost a quantity of blood, doctor," said M'Garry ; 
" much vascular, to say nothing of extravasated." 

" Which I'll state in my case," said Murphy. 

"Murphy, don't interrupt," said Growling, who, with a 
very grave face, recommenced •. " Gentlemen, from the cause 
already stated, I see Mr. M'Garry is not prepared to answer the 
out-pouring of feeling with which you have greeted him, and 
if I might be permitted" — 

Every one shouted, " Certainly — certainly !'' 

" Then as I am permitted, I will venture to respond for Mr. 
M'Garry, and adu'ress you, as he would address you. In the 
words of Mister M'Garry, I would say — Gentlemen — unaccus- 
tomed as I am" — 

Some smothered laughter followed this beginning; upon 
which the doctor, with a mock gravity, proceeded— 

" Gentlemen, this interruption I consider to be an infringe- 
ment on the liberty of the subject. I recommence, therefore, 
in the words of my honourable and wounded friend, and our 
honourable and wounded feelings, and say, as my friend would 
say, or, to speak classically, M'Garry loquitur" — 

* The apothecary bowed his head to the bit of Latin, and the 
doctor continued — 

" Gentlemen — unaccustomed to public thrashing, you can 
conceive what my feelings are at the present moment, in mind 
and body. [Bravo .'] Ytu behold an outrage [much confusioii] ! 
Shall an exaggerated savagery like this escape punishment, and 
4 the calm, sequestered vale' (aa the poet calls it) of private life 


be ravaged with impunity ? [Bravo, bravo !] Are the learned 
professions to be trampled under foot by barbarian ignorance 
and brutality ? No ; I read in the indignant looks of my 
auditory their high-souled answers. Gentlemen, your sympathy 
is better than diachylon to my wounds, and this is the proudest 
day of my life." 

Thunders of applause followed the doctor's address, and 
every one shook M'Garry's hand, till his bruised bones ached 
again. Questions poured upon him from all sides as to the 
nature and quantity of his drubbing, to all of which M'Garry 
innocently answered in terms of exaggeration, spiced with 
scientific phrases. Muscles, tendons, bones, and sinews, were 
particularised with the precision of an anatomical demonstra- 
tion ; he swore he was pulverised, and paralysed, and all the 
other lies he could think of. 

" A large stick, you say V said Murphy. 

" Sir ! I never saw such a stick — 'twas like a weaver's beam !" 

"I'll make a note of that," said Murphy. "A weaver's 
beam — 'twill tell well with a jury." 

" And beat you all over ?" said Durfy. 

" From shoulder to flank, sir, I am one mass of welts and 
weals ; the abrasures are extensive, the bruises terrific, particu- 
larly in the lumbar region.'' 

" Where's that 1" asked Jack Horan. 

"The lumbar region is what is commonly called the loins, 

"Not always," said the doctor. "It varies in different 
subjects : I have known some people whose lumber region lay 
in the head." 

" You laugh, gentlemen," said M'Garry, with a mournful 
smile ; " but you know the doctor — he will be jocular." He 
then continued to describe the various other regions of his in- 
juries, amidst the well-acted pity and indignation of the queer 
fellows who drew him out, until they were saturated, so far, 
with the fun of the subject. After which, Murphy, whose 
restless temperament could never let him be quiet for a moment, 
suggested thai they should divert themselves before dinner with 
a badger fight. 

"Isn't one fight a day enough for you, signor?" said the 

" It is not every day we get a badger, you know," said 
Murphy ; " and I heard just now from Tim the waiter that 
there is a horse-dealer lately arrived at the stable3 here, whc 
has a famous one with him, and I know Iieilly the butcher has 
two or three capital dogs, and there's a wicked mastiff below 


stairs, ana I'll send for my 'buffer,' and we'll have some 
spanking sport." 

He led his guests then to the inn yard, and the horse-dealer, 
for a consideration, allowed his badger to wage battle ; the noise 
of the affair spread through the town, while they were making 
their arrangements, and sending right and left for dogs for the 
contest ; and a pretty considerable crowd soon assembled at the 
place of action, where the hour before dinner was spent in the 
intellectual amusement of a badger-fight. 


The fierce yells of the badger-fight ringing far and wide, 
soon attracted a crowd, which continued to increase every 
minute by instalments of men and boys, who might be seen 
running across a small field by the road -side, close to the scene 
of action, which lay at the back of the inn ; and heavy-caped 
and skirted frieze coats streamed behind the full-grown, while 
the rags of the gossoons* fluttered in the race. Attracted by 
this evidence of " something going on," a horseman, who was 
approaching the town, urged his horse to speed, and turning 
his head towards a yawning double ditch that divided the road 
from the field, he gracefully rode the noble animal over the 
spanking leap. 

The rider was Edward O'Connor; and he was worthy of 
his name — the pure blood of that royal race was in his heart, 
which never harboured a sentiment that could do it dishonour, 
and overflowed with feelings which ennoble human nature, and 
make us proud of our kind. He was young and handsome ; 
and as he sat his mettled horse, no lady could deny that Edward 
O'Connor was the very type of the gallant cavalier. Though 
attached to every manly sport and exercise, his mind was of a 
refined order ; and a youth passed amidst books and some of 
the loveliest scenery in Ireland, had nurtured the poetic feeling 
with which his mind was gifted, and which found its vent in 
many a love-taught lyric, or touching ballad, or spirit-stirring 

* Boys. 


song 1 , whose theme was national glory. To him the bygone 
days of his country's history were dear, made more familiar by 
many an antique relic which hung around his own room in his 
father's house. Celt, and sword, and spear-head of Phoenician 
bronze, and golden gorget, and silver bodkin, and ancient harp, 
and studded crosier, were there ; and these time-worn evidences 
of arts, and arms, and letters, flattered the affection with 
which he looked back on the ancient history of Ireland, and 
kept alive the ardent love of his country with which he glowed 
— a love too deep, too pure, to be likely to expire, even without 
the aid of such poetic sources of excitement. To him the names 
of Fitzgerald, and Desmond, and Tyrone, were dear ; and there 
was no romantic legend of the humbler outlaws with which he 
was not familiar ; and " Charley of the Horses," and " Ned of 
the Hill," but headed the list of names he loved to recall ; and 
the daring deeds of bold spirits who held the hill side for 
liberty, were often given in words of poetic fire from the lips 
of Edward O'Connor. 

And yet Edward O'Connor went to see the badger-fight. 

There is something inherent in man's nature, urging him to 
familiarise himself with cruelty : and, perhaps, without such a 
power of witnessing savage deeds, he would be unequal to the 
dominion for which he was designed. Men of the highest 
order of intellect the world has known have loved the chase. 
How admirably Scott displays this tendency of noble minds, in 
the meeting of Ellen with her father, when Douglas says — 

" The chase I followed far ; 
Tis mimicry of noble war." 

And the effect of this touch of character is heightened by 
Douglas in a subsequent scene — Douglas, who could enjoy the 
sport which ends in death, bending over his gentle child, and 
di'ODDing tears of the tenderest affection — tears which 

" Would not stain an angel's cheek." 

Superadded to this natural tendency, Edward O'Connor had 
an additional motive. He lived amongst a society of sporting 
men, less cultivated than he was, whose self-esteem would have 
easily ignited the spark of jealousy if he had seemed to scorn 
the things which made their principal enjoyment, and formed 
the chief occupation of their lives ; and his good sense and good 
heart (and there is an intimate connection between them) pointed 
out to him that, wherever your lot is cast, duty to yourself and 
others suggests the propriety of adapting your conduct to the 


circumstances in which you are placed (so long as morality and 
decency are not violated), and that the manifestation of one's 
own superiority may render the purchase too dear, by being 
bought *at the terrible price of our neighbour's dislike. He, 
therefore, did not tell everybody he wrote verses : he kept the 
gift as secret as he could. If an error, however gross, on any 
subject, were made in his presence, he never took willing notice 
of it ; or if circumstances obliged him to touch upon it, it was 
always done with a politeness and tact that afforded the blun- 
derer the means of retreat. If some gross historical error, 
for instance, happened to be committed in a conversation with 
himself (and then only), he would set the mistake right, as a 
matter of conscience, but he would do so by saying there was a 
great similarity between the event spoken of and some other 
event. " I know what you are thinking of," he would say, 
" but you make a slight mistake in the dates ; the two stories 
are very similar and likely to mislead one." 

But with all this modest reserve, did the least among his 
companions think him the less clever? No. It was shrewdly 
suspected he was a poet; it was well known he was highly 
educated and accomplished; and yet Edward O'Connor wa3 
a universal favourite, bore the character of being a "real fine 
fellow," and was loved and respected by the most illiterate of 
the young men of the country ; who, in allusion to his extensive 
lore on the subject of the legendary heroes of the romantic his- 
tory of Ireland, his own Christian name, and his immediate 
place of residence, which was near a wild mountain pass, 
christened him " Ned of the Hill." 

His appearance amidst the crowd assembled to witness the 
rude sport was hailed with pleasure — varying from the humble, 
but affectionate respect of the peasant, who cried " Long life to 
you, Misther O'Connor," to the hearty burst of equality, which 
welcomed him as " Ned of the Hill." 

The fortune of the fight favoured the badger, who proved 
himself a trump ; and Murphy appreciated his worth so highly 
that, when the battle was over, he would not quit the ground 
until he became his owner, at a high price to the horse dealer. 
His next move was to insist on Edward O'Connor dining with 
him ; and Edward, after many excuses to avoid the party he 
foresaw would be a drinking bout — of which he had a speciaV 
horror, notwithstanding all his toleration — yielded to the en- 
treaties of Murphy, and consented to be his guest, just as Tim 
the waiter ran up, steaming from every pore, to announce that 
the dinner was "ready to be sarved." 

" Then sarve it, sir," said Murphy, "and sarve it light." 


OIF cantered Tim, steaming- and snorting like a locomotive 
engine, and the party followed to the inn, where a long proces- 
sion of dish-bearers was ascending the stairs to the big room, as 
Murphy and his friends entered. 

The dinner it is needless to describe. One dinner is the 
same as another in the most essential points, namely, to satisfy 
hunger and slake consequent thirst ; and whether beef and cab- 
bage, and heavy wet, are to conquer the dragon of appetite, or 
your stomach is to sustain the more elaborate attack tired from 
the batterie de cuisine of a finished artiste, and moistened with 
champagne, the difference is only of degree in the fashion of the 
thing and the tickling of the palate : hunger is as thoroughly 
satisfied with the one as the other; and head-aches as well 
manufactured out of the beautiful, bright, and taper glasses which 
bear the foam of France to the lip, as from the coarse, flat-bot- 
tomed tumblers of an inn that reek with punch. At the dinner 
there was the same tender solicitude on the part of the carvers 
as to " Where would you like it V and the same carelessness on 
the part of those whom they questioned, who declared they had 
no choice, " but if there mas a little bit near the shank," &c, or 
" if there was a liver wing- to spare" By the way, some car- 
vers there are who push an aspirant's patience too far. I have 
seen some who, after giving away both wings, and all the 
breast, two sidebones, and the short legs, meet the eager look of 
the fifth man on their left with a smile, and ask him, with an 
effrontery worthy of the Old Bailey, " Has he any choice 1" and, 
at the same time, toss a drum-stick on the destined plate, or 
boldly attempt to divert his melancholy with a merry-thought. 
All this, and more, was there at Murtough Murphy's dinner, 
long memorable in the country from a frolic that wound up the 
evening, which soon began to warm, after the cloth was 
removed, into the sort of a thing commonly known by the name 
of a jollification. But before the dinner was over, poor M'Garry 
was nearly pickled : Jack Horan, having determined to make 
him drunk, arranged a system of attack on M'Garry's sobriety 
which bade defiance to his prudence to withstand. It was 
agreed that everyone should ask the apothecary to take wine ; 
and he, poor innocent man ! when gentlemen whom he had 
never had. the honour to meet at dinner before addressed him 
with a winning smile, and said, " Mr. M'Garry, will you do me 
the honour?" could not do less than fill his glass every time ; so 
that, to use Jack Horan's own phrase, the apothecary was 
"sewed up" before he had any suspicion of the fact; and, 
unused to the indications of approaching vinous excitement, he 
supposed it was the delightful society made him so hilarious. 


and he began to launch forth after dinner in a manner quite at 
variance with the reserve he usually maintained in the presence 
of his superiors, and talked largely. Now, M'Garry' s principal 
failing was to make himself appear very learned in his profes- 
sion ; and every new discovery in chemistry, operation in sur- 
gery, or scientific experiment he heard of, he was prone to sho*re 
in, head and shoulders, in his soberest moments ; but now that 
he was half-drunk, he launched forth on the subject of galvan- 
ism, having read of some recent wonderful effects produced on 
the body of a recent murderer who was hanged and given over 
to tho College of Surgeons in Dublin. To impress the company 
still more with a sense of his learning, he addressed Growling 
on the subject, and the doctor played him off to advantage. 

"Don't you think it very wonderful, doctor?" inquired 
M'Garry, speaking somewhat thickly. 
" Very," answer-ed the doctor, drily. 

" They say, sir, the man — that is, the subject — when undei 
the influence of the battery, absolutely twiddled his left foot, 
and raised his right arm." 

" And raised it to some purpose, too," said the doctor ; " for 
he raised a contusion on the Surgeon-General's eye, having hit 
him over the same." 

" Dear me ! — I did not hear that." 

" It is true, however," said the doctor ; " and that gives you 
an idea of the power of the galvanic influence, for you know 
the Surgeon-General is a powerful man, and yet he could not 
hold him down." 

"Wonderful!" hiccupped M'Garry. 

"But that's nothing to what happened in London," con- 
tinued the doctor. " They experimented there the other day 
with a battery of such power, that the man who was hanged 
absolutely jumped up, seized a scalpel from the table, and 
making a rush on the assembled Faculty of London, cleared the 
theatre in less than no time ; dashed into the hall ; stabbed the 
porter who attempted to stop him ; made a chevy down the 
south side of Leicester Square ; and as he reached the corner, a 
woman, who was carrying tracts published by the Society for 
the Suppression of Vice, shrieked at beholding a man in so 
startling a condition, and fainted ; he, with a presence of mind 
perfectly admirable, whipped the cloak from her back, and 
threw it round him, and scudding through the tortuous alleys 
which abound in that neighbourhood, made his way to the 
house where the learned Society of JNoviomagians hold their 
convivial meetings, and, telling thelandlord that he was invited 
there to dinner as a curiosity, he gained admittance, and, it is 


supposed, took his opportunity for escaping, for he has not 
since been heard of." 

"Good Heaven!" gasped M'Garry; "and do you believe 
that, doctor?" 

" Most firmly, sir ! My belief is, that galvanism is, in fact, 
the original principle of vitality." 

"Should we not rejoice, doctor," cried M'Garry, "at this 
triumph of science?" 

" I don't think you should, Mister M'Garry," said the doc- 
tor, gravely ; " for it would utterly destroy your branch of the 
profession ; pharmacopolists, instead of compounding medicine, 
must compound with their creditors ; they are utterly ruined. 
Mercury is no longer in the ascendant ; all doctors have to do 
now is to carry a small battery about them, a sort of galvanic 
pocket-pistol, I may say, and restore the vital principle by its 

"You are not serious, doctor ?" said M'Garry, becoming very 
serious, with that wise look so peculiar to drunken men. 

" Never more serious in my life, sir." 

" That would be dreadful !" said M'Garry. 

" Shocking, you mean," said the doctor. 

" Leave off your confounded, there," shouted 
Murphy, from the head of the table, " and let us have a song." 

" I can't sing, indeed, Mister Murphy," said M'Garry, who 
became more intoxicated every moment ; for he continued to 
drink, having overstepped the boundary which custom had 
prescribed to him. 

'' I didn't ask you, man," said Murphy ; " but my darling 
fellow, Ned here, will gladden our hearts and ears with a stave." 

" Bravo !" was shouted round the table, trembling under the 
" thunders of applause " with which heavy hands made it ring 
again ; and " Ned of the Hill ! " " Ned of ^he Hill ! " was voci- 
ferated with many a hearty cheer about the board that might 
indeed be called " festive." 

"Well," said O'Connor, "since you call upon me in the 
name of Ned of the Hill, I'll give you a song under that very 
title. Here's Ned of the Hill's own shout;" and in a rich, 
manly voice he sang, with the fire of a bard, these lines : — ■ 

%\t S&ont of $ri> of % fill.* 

The hill! the hill! with its sparkling rill, 
And its dawning air so light and pure, 

* The songs in this work are published by Duff an*J Hodgson, 66, 
Oxford Street. 


Where the morning's eye scorns the mists that l'e 

On the drowsy valley and the moor. 
Here, with the eagle, I rise betimes ; 

Here, with the eagle, my state I keep ; 
The first we see of the morning sun, 

And his last as he sets o'er the deep ; 
And there, while strife is rife below, 

Here from the tyrant I am free : 
Let shepherd slaves the valley praise, 

But the hill ! the hill for me ! 

rhe baron below in his castle dwells, 

And his garden boasts the costly rose ; 
But mine is the keep of the mountain steep, 

Where the matchless wild flower freely blows. 
Let him fold his sheep, and his harvest reap — 

I look down from my mountain throne ; 
And I choose and pick of the flock and the rick, 

And what is his I can make my own. 
Let the valley grow in its wealth below, 

And the lord keep his high degree ; 
But higher am I in my liberty — 

The hill! the hill for me ! 

O'Connor's song was greeted with what the music pub- 
lishers are pleased to designate, on their title-pages, "distin- 
guished applause ;" and his "health and song" were filled to 
and drank with enthusiasm. 

" Whose lines are those?'' asked the doctor. 

"I don't know," said O'Connor. 

" That's as much as to say they are your own," said 
Growling. " Ned, don't be too modest — it is the worst fault a 
man can have who wants to get on in this world." 

" The call is with you, Ned," shouted Murphy from the 
head of the table ; " knock some one down for a song." 

" Mr. Eeddy, I hope, will favour us," said Edward, with a 
courteous inclination of his head towards the gentleman lie 
named, who returned a very low bow, with many protestations 
that he would " do his best,'' &c. : "but after Mr. O'Connor, 
really," — and this was said with a certain self-complacent 
smile, indicative of his being on very good terms with himself. 
Now, James Reddy wrote rhymes — bless the mark ! — and was 
tolerably well convinced that, except Tom Moore (if he did 
except even him), there was not a man in the British dominions 
his equal at a lyric. He sang, too, with a kill-me-quite air, as 
if no lady could resist his strains ; and to "give effect," as he 
called it, he be«;an every stanza as loud as he could, and 

HANDY A>'DY. 53 

finished it in a gentle murmur — tailed it off very taper, indeed ; 
in short, it seemed as if a shout had been suddenly smitten with 
consumption, and died in a whisper. And this, hi3 style, he 
never varied, whatever the nature or expression of the song 
might be, or the sense to be expressed ; but as he very often 
sang his own, there were seldom any to consider. This rubbish 
he had set to music by the country music master, who believed 
himself to be a better composer than Sir John Stevenson, to 
whom the prejudices of the world gave the palm ; and he 
eagerly caught at the opportunity which the verses and vanity 
of Eeddy afforded him, of stringing his crotchets and quavers 
on the same hank with the abortive fruits of Eeddy's muse, and 
the wretched productions hung worthily together. 

Reddy, with the proper quantity of "hems and haws," and 
rubbing down his upper lip and chin with his forefinger and 
thumb, cleared his throat, tossed his nose into the air, and said 
he was going to give them " a little classic thing." 

" Just look at the puppy!" snarled out old Growling to his 
neighbour ; " he's going to measure us out some yards of his 
own fustian, I'm sure — he looks so pleased." 

Eeddy gave his last " a-hem ! " and sang what he called 

®^e Utartmtt of ^rratote. 

The graceful Greek with gem-bright hair, 
Her garments rent, and rent the air ; 

" What a tearing rage she was in ! " said old Growling 
in an under tone. 

With sobs and sighs 
And tearful eyes, 
Like fountain fair of Helicon ! 

"Oh, thunder and lightning!" growled the doctor, who 
gulled a letter out of his pocket, and began to scribble on the 
blank portions of it, with the stump of a blunt pencil, which ht> 
very audibly sucked, to enable it to make a mark. 

For ah, her lover false was gone! 
The fickle brave, 
And -fickle wave, 

' And pickled cabbage," said the doctor. 

Combined to cheat the fickle fair. 

Oh fickle! fickle! fickle! 
But the brave should be iron. 
And the fair ones too — 


True, true, 

As the ocean's blue ! 

And Ariadne had not been, 

Deserted there, like beauty's queen. 

Oh, Ariadne ! — adne !— adne ! 

"Beautiful!" said the doctor, with an approving 1 nod ft 
Iteddy, who continued his song, while the doctor continued to 

The sea-nymphs round the sea-girt shore 

Mocked the maiden's sighs ; 
And the ocean's savage roar 

Eeplies — 
Replies — replies— replies, replies, replies. 
(After the manner of" Tell me where is Fancy bred.' 1 ) 

" Yery original ! " said the doctor. 

With willow wand 

Upon the strand 
She wrote, with trembling heart and hand, 

" The brave should ne'er 

Desert the fair." 
But the wave the moral washed away, 

Ah, well-a-day ! well-a-day ! 
A-day ! — a-day ! — a-day ! 

Reddy smiled and bowed, and thunders of applause 
i-A lowed; the doctor shouted "Splendid!" several times, and 
cvrctinued to write and take snuff voraciously, by which those 
who knew him could comprehend he was bent on mischief. 

" What a beautiful thing- that is ! " said one. 

"Whose is it?" said another. 

" A little thing of my own," answered Eeddy, with a smile. 

" I thought so," said Murphy. " By Jove, James, you are 
& genius!" 

" Nonsense!" smiled the poet; "just a little classic trifle — 
I think them little classic allusions is pleasing in general— ^ 
Tommy Moore is very happy in his classic allusions, you mar 
remark — not that I, of course, mean to institute a comparison 
between so humble an individual as myself and Tommy Moore, 
who has so well been called ' the poet of all circles, and the idol 
of his own;' and if you will permit me, in a kindred spirit — I 
hope I may say the kindred spirit of a song — in that kindred 
spirit I propose his health — the health of Tommy Moore ! " 

"Don't say Tommy 1" said the doctor, in an irascible tone; 
" call the man Tom, sir ; — with all my heart, Tom Moose ! " 

The table took the word from Jack Growling, and " Tom 



Moore," with all the honours of " hip and hurra ! " rang round 
the walls of the village inn — and where is the village in Ireland 
that health has not been hailed with the fiery enthusiasm of the 
land whose lays he hath "wedded to immortal verse," — the 
land which is proud of his birth, and holds his name in honour. 
There is a magic in a great name ; and in this instance that 
of Tom Moore turned the current from where it was setting, 
and instead of quizzing the nonsense ot the fool who had excited 
their mirth, every one launched forth in praise of their native 
bard, and couplets from his favourite songs rang from lip 
to lip. 

" Come, Ned of the Hill," said Murphy, " sing us one of his 
songs. — I know you have them all as pat as your prayers " — 

" And says them oftener," said the doctor, who still con- 
tinued scribbling over the letter. 

Edward, at the urgent request of many, sang that most ex- 
quisite of the melodies, " And doth not a meeting like this 
make amends ?" and long rang the plaudits, and rapidly circu- 
lated the bottle at its conclusion. 

" We'll be the 'Alps in the sunset,' my boys," said Murphy ; 
" and here's the wine to enlighten us ! But what are you about 
there, doctor 1 — is it a prescription you are writing 1" 

" No. Prescriptions are written in Latin, and this is a bit 
of Greek I'm doing. Mr. Reddy has inspired me with a classic 
spirit, and if you will permit me, I'll volunteer a song [bravo ! 
bravo /], and give you another version of the subject he has so 
beautifully treated — only mine is not so heart-breaking." 

The doctor's proposition was received with cheers, and after 
hs had gone through the mockery of clearing his throat, and 
pitching his voice after the usual manner of your wouVl-be fine 
singers, he gave out, to the tune of a well-known rollicking 
[rish lilt, the following burlesque version of the subject oJ 
Beddy's song. 

^obz anil iftquor, 

A Greek Allegory 

On sure 'twould amaze yiz 

How one Misther Theseus 
Bessrted a lovely young lady of owld. 

On a dissolute island, 

All lonely and silent, 
Ste sobb'd herself sick as she sat in tho oovW 


Oh, you'd think she -was kilt, 

As she roar'd -with the quilt 
Wrapp'd round her in haste as she jump'd out of bo&, 

And ran down to the coast 

Where she look'd like a ghost, 
Though 'twas he was departed — the vagabone fled 

And she cried " Well-a-day ! 

Sure my heart it is grey : 
They're deceivers, them sojers, that goe3 on half-pay. 

Whilst abusing the villain, 

Came riding postilion 
A nate little boy on the back of a baste, 

Big enough, faith, to ate him, 

But he lather'd and bate him, 
And the baste to unsate him ne'er struggled the lasts -, 

And an iligant car 

He was dhrawing — by gar ! 
it was finer by far than a Lord Mayor's state coach , 

And the chap that was in it, 

He sang like a linnet, 
With a nate kag of whisky beside him to broach. 

And he tipp'd now and then 

Just a matter o' ten 
Or twelve tumblers o' punch to his bold sarving-ir?&. 

They were dress'd in green livery, 

But seem'd rather shivery, 
For 'twas only a trifle o' leaves that they wora ; 

But they caper'd away, 

Like the sweeps on May-day, 
A nd shouted and tippled the tumblers galore. 

A print of their masther 

Is often in plasther 
0' Paris, put over the door of a tap ; 

A fine chubby fellow, 

Bipe, rosy, and mellow, 
Like a peach that is ready to drop in your lap. 

Hurrah ! for brave Bacchus, 

A bottle to crack us, 
He's a friend of the people, like bowld Caius Gracchi*, 


How Bacchus perceiving 

The lady was grieving, 
He spoke to her civil, and tipp'd her a wink 

And the more that she fretted, 

He soother'd and petted, 
A.nd gave her a gla b her own health just to dhrink; 


Her pulse it beat quicker, 

The thrifle o' liquor 
Enliven'd her sinking heart's cocklc3, I think ; 

So the moral is plain, 

That if love gives you pain, 
There's nothing can cure it like takinq to dhrink ! 

Uproarious were the " bravos'' which followed the doctor's 
impromptu ; the glasses overflowed, and were emptied to his 
health and song, as laughing faces nodded to him round the 
table. The doctor sat seriously rocking himself in his chair 
backwards and forwards, to meet the various duckings of the 
beaming faces about him ; for every face beamed, but one — and 
that was the unfortunate M'Garry's. He was most deplorably 
drunk, and began to hold on by the table. At last he contrived 
to shove back his chair and get on his legs ; and making a 
sloping stagger towards the wall, contrived by its support to 
scramble his way to the door. There he balanced himself as 
well as he could by the handle of the lock, which chance, 
rather than design, enabled him to turn, and the door suddenly 
opening, poor M'Garry made a rush across the landing-place, 
and stumbling against an opposite door, would have fallen, had 
he not supported himself by the lock of that also, which again 
yielding to his heavy tugs, opened, and the miserable wretch 
making another plunge forward, his shins came in contact with 
the rail of a very low bed, and into it he fell head foremost, 
totally unable to rise, and after some heavy grunts, he sank into 
a profound sleep. 

In this state he was discovered soon after by Murphy, whose 
inventive faculty for frolic instantly suggested how the apothe- 
cary's mishap might be made the foundation of a good practical 
joke. Murtough went down stairs, and procuring some 
blacking and red pickled cabbage by stealth, returned to the 
chamber where M'Garry now lay in a state of stupor, and 
dragging off his clothes, he made long dabs across his back 
with the purple juice of the pickle, and Warren's paste, till 
poor M'Garry was as regularly striped as a tiger, from his 
■ houlder to his flank. He then returned to the dinner-room, 
where the drinking bout had assumed a formidable character, 
and others, as well as the apothecary, began to feel the influence 
of their potations. Murphy confided to the doctor what he had 
done, and said that when the men were drunk enough, ht 
would contrive that M'Garry should be discovered, and then 
they would take their measures accordingly. It was not very 
long before his company were ripe enough for his designs, and 
thea iiuginff the bell, he demanded of the waiter, when he 



entered, what had become of Mr. M'GarryT The waiter, not 
having any knowledge on the subject, was desired to inquire, 
and a search being instituted, M'Garry was discovered by Mrs. 
Fay in the state Murphy had left him in. On seeing him, she 
was so terrified that she screamed, and ran into the dinner-room, 
wringing her hands, and shouting "Murder!" A great corn- 
motion ensued, and a general rush to the bed-room took place, 
and exclamations of wonder and horror flew round the room, 
not only from the gentlemen of the dinner-party, but from the 
servants of the house, who crowded to the chamber on the first 
alarm, and helped not a little to increase the confusion. 

"Oh! who ever see the like of it!" shouted Mrs. Pay. 
" He's kilt with the batin' he got ! Oh, look at him — black 
and blue all over I Oh, the murther it is I Oh, I wouldn't be 
Squire O'Grady for all his fort'n." 

" Gad, I believe he's killed, sure enough," said Murphy. 

" What a splendid action the widow will have 1" said Jack 

"You forget, man," said Murphy; "this is not a case for 
action of damages, but a felony — hanging matter." 

" Sure enough," said Jack. 

" Doctor, will you feel his pulse," said Murphy. 

The doctor did as he was required, and assumed a very 
serious countenance. "'Tis a bad business, sir — his wounds 
are mortifying already." 

Upon this announcement, there was a general retreat from 
the bed round .which they had been crowding too close for the 
carrying on of the joke ; and Mrs. Fay ran for a shovel of 
hot cinders, and poured vinegar over them, to fumigate the 

" A very proper precaution, Mrs. Fay," said the doctor, with 
imperturbable gravity. 

" That villanous smoke is choking me," said Jack Horan. 

" Better that, sir, than have a pestilence in the house," said 

" I'll leave the place," said Jack Horan. 

" And I, too," said Doyle. 

"And I," said Reddy; "'tis disgusting to a sensitive 

" Gentlemen !" said Murphy, shutting the door, " you must 
not quit the house. I must have an inquest on the body." 

" An inquest !" they all exclaimed. 

"Yes — an inquest." 

" But there's no coroner here," said Reddy. 

"No matter for that," mid Murohv. "I, as the under- 

HAH BY AND?. 69 

sheriff of the county, can preside at this inquiry. Gentlemen, 
take your places — bring in more lights, Mrs. Fay. Stana round 
the bed, gentlemen." 

" Not too close," said the doctor. " Mrs. Fay, bring more 

Mrs. Fay had additional candles and more vinegar intro- 
duced, and the drunken fellows were standing as straight as 
they could, each with a candle in his hand, round the still 
prostrate M'Garry. 

Murphy then opened on them with a speech, and called in 
every one in the house to ask did they know anything about 
the matter; and it was not long before it was spread all over 
the town, that Squire O'Grady had killed M'Garry, and that 
the coroner's inquest brought in a verdict of murder, and that 
the squire was going to be sent to jail. 

This almost incredible humbug of Murphy's had gone on 
for nearly half an hour, when the cold arising from his want 
of clothes, and the riot about him, and the fumes of the vinegar, 
roused M'Garry, who turned on the bed and opened his eyes. 
There he saw a parcel of people standing round him, with 
candles in their hands, and countenance of drunken wonder 
and horror. He uttered a hollow proan> an| i cried — 

" Save us and keep us! — wbe^c am I ?" 

"Retire, gentlemen," srd the doctor, waving his hand 
authoritatively ; " retire — all but the under-sheriff.'' 

Murphy cleared the room and shut the door, while M'Garry 
still kept exclaiming, " Save us and keep us, where am 1 ? 
What's this? Lord!" 

"You're dead!" said Murphy ; "and the coroner's inqucsS 
ha3 just sat on you !" 

" Dead I" cried M'Garry, with a horrified stare. 

" Dead !" repeated the doctor, solemnly, 

" Are you not Doctor Growling 1" 

"You see the effect, Mr. Murphy," said the doctor, not 
noticing M'Garry's question, "you see the effect of the 

" Wonderful I" said Murphy. 

" Preserve U3 !" cried the bewildered apothecary. " How 
could I know you if I was dead, doctor? Oh, doctor, dear, 
cure I'm not dead !" 

" As a herring !" said the doctor. 

" Lord have mercy on me ! Oh, Mr. Murphy, sure I'm r.oi 
dead ?" 

" You're dead, sir," said Murphy ; " the doctor tVJ onlj 
galvanised you for a few moments." 


" Lord !" groaned M'Garry. " Doctor— indeed, doctor!" 

" You are in a state of temporary animation," said the 

" I do feel very odd, indeed," said the terrified man, putting 
his hands to his throbbing temples. " How long am I dead?" 

" A week next Tuesday," said the doctor. " Galvanism has 
preserved you from decomposition." 

M'Garry uttered a heavy groan, and looked up piteously at 
his two tormentors. Murphy, fearful the shock might drive 
him out of his mind, said, " Perhaps, doctor, you can preserve 
his life altogether : you have kept him alive so long?" 

" I'll try," said Growling ; " hand me that tumbler. 

Murphy handed him a tumbler full of water, and the doctoi 
gave it to M'Garry, and desired him to try and drink it ; he put 
it to his lips and swallowed a little drop. 

" Can you taste it?" asked the doctor. 

" Isn't it water?" said M'Garry. 

" You see how dull the nerves are yet," said Growling to 
Murphy ; " that's aquafortis and assafoetida, and he can't taste 
it; we "must give him another touch of the battery. Hold him 
up, while I go into the next room and immerse the plates." 

The doctor left the bed-room, and came back with a hot 
poker and some lemon-juice and water. 

" Turn him gently round," said he to Murphy, " while I 
conduct the wires." 

His order was obeyed ; and giving M'Garry a touch of the 
hot poker, the apothecary roared like a bull. 

" That did him good!" said Growling. " Now try, can you 
taste anything ?" and he gave him the lemon-juice and water. 

" I taste a slight acid, doctor dear," said M'Garry, 

" You see what that last touch did," said Growling gravely ; 
'' but the palate is still feeble ; — that's nearly pure nitric." 

" Oh, dear !" said M'Garry, " is it nitric?" 

" You see his hearing is coming back too," said the doctor 
to Murphy. " Try, can he put his legs under him ?" 

They raised the apothecary from the bed, and when he 
staggered and fell forward, he looked horrified. " Oh, dear ! 
I can't walk. I'm afraid I am — I am no more !" 

" Don't despair," said the doctor ; " I pledge my professiona. 
reputation to save you now, since you can stand at all, and your 
senses are partly restored. Let him lie down again ; try, could 
he sleep "— 

" Sleep !" said M'Garry, with horror ; " pethans neve* (^ 
awaken I" 


" I'll keep up the galvanic influence— don't be afraid ; depend 
upon me — there, lie down. Can you shut your eyes 1 Yes, I 
eee you can — don't open them so fast. Try, can you keep them 
shut? Don't open them till I tell you — wait till I count two 
hundred and fifty — that's right — turn a little more round — keep 
your eyes fast ; that's it. One — two — three — four — five — six 
seven ;'' and so he went on, making- a longer interval between 
every number, till the monotonous sound, and the closed eye of 
the helplessly drunken man, produced the effect desired by th( 
doctor; and the heavy snoring 1 of the apothecary soon bor< 
witness that he slept. 

"VVe hope it is not necessary to assure our fair readers that 
Edward O'Connor had nothing to do with this scene of drunken 
absurdity. No. Long before the evening's proceedings had 
assumed the character of a regular drinking bout, he had con- 
trived to make his escape, his head only sufficiently excited 
to increase his sentimentality ; so, instead of riding home direct, 
he took a round of some eight miles, to have a look at Merry- 
vale, for there dwelt Fanny Dawson — the darling Fanny Daw- 
son, sister to Dick, whose devilry was more than redeemed in 
the family by the angelic sweetness of his lovely and sportive 
sister. For the present, however, poor Edward O'Connor was 
not allowed to address Fanny ; but his love for her knew no 
abatement notwithstanding ; and to see the place where she 
dwelt had for him a charm. There he sat in his saddle, at the 
gate, looking up the long line of old trees through which the 
cool moonlight was streaming ; and he fancied that Fannj 'a 
foot had trodden that avenue perhaps a few hours before, and 
even that gave him pleasure : for to those who love with the 
fond enthusiasm of Edward O'Connor, the very vacancy where 
the loved one has been is sacred. 

The horse pawed impatiently to be gone, and Edward reined 
him up with a chiding voice ; but the animal continuing restless, 
Edward's apostrophes to his mistress, and warnings to his horse, 
made an odd mixture ; and we would recommend gentlemen, 
after their second bottle, not to let themselves be overheard in 
their love-fits, for even as fine a fellow as Edward O'Connor is 
likely to be ridiculous under such circumstances. 

" Oh, Fanny !" cried Edward, " my adored Fanny !" — then 
to his horse, " Be quiet, you brute ! — My love, my angel ! — you 
devil, I'll thrash you, if you don't be quiet! — though separated 
from me, you are always present to my mind; your bright 
eyes, your raven locks — your mouth's as hard as a paving stone, 
you brute! — Oh, Fanny! if fate be ever propitious; should I be 
blessed with the divine possession of your charms, you should 


then know — what a devil you are ! — you should then know the 
tend<irest care. I'll guard you, caress you, fondle you — Til 
bury my spurs in you, you devil ! Oh, Fanny ! beloved one ! — 
farewell — good night — a thousand blessings on you ! — and now 
go and oe hanged to you !" said he, bitterly, putting his spurs to 
'lis horse and galloping home 

When the doctor was satisfied that M'Garry was fast asleep, 
he and Murphy left tfie room, and locked the door. They were 
encountered on the lobby by several curious people, who wanted 
to know, " was the man dead V The doctor shook his head very 
gravely, and said " Not quite ;'' while Murphy, with a serious 
nod, said " All over, I'm afraid, Mrs. Fay ;" for he perceived 
among the persons on the lobby a servant o/ O'Grady's, who 
chanced to be in the town, and was all wonder and fright at the 
news of his master having committed murder. Murphy and 
the doctor proceeded to the dinner-room, where they found the 
drunken men wrangling about what verdict they should bring 
in, and a discursive dispute touching on " murder,'' and " man- 
slaughter," and "accidental death," and "the visitation of 
God," mingled with noisy toasts and flowing cups, until any 
sagacity the company ever possessed was sacrificed to the rosy 

The lateness of the hour, and the state of the company, ren- 
dered riding home impossible to most of them ; so Mrs. Fay waa 
called upon to prepare beds. The inn did not afford a sufficiency 
of beds to accommodate every gentleman with a single one, 
so a toss-up was resorted to, to decide who should sleep double. 
The fortune of war cast the unfortunate James Reddy upon the 
doctor, who, though one of the few who were capable of self- 
protection, preferred remaining at the inn to riding home some 
miles. Now James Eeddy, though very drunk indeed, had 
sense enough left to dislike the lot that fate had cast him. To 
Bleep with such a slovenly man as the doctor shocked James, 
who was a bit of a dandy. The doctor seemed perfectly con- 
tented with the arrangement ; and as he bade Murphy " good, 
night," a lurking devilment hung about his huge mouth. All 
the men staggered off, or were supported, to their various beds, 
but one — and he could not stir from the floor, where he lay 
hugging the leg- of the table. To every effort to disturb him he 
replied with an imploring grunt, to "let him alone," and he 
hugged the leg of the table closer, exclaiming, " I won't leave 


you, Mrs. Fay! — my darling Mrs. Fay! row] your arms round 
me, Mrs. Fay ! " 

" Ah, get up and go to bed, Misther Doyle," uaid Tim. 
u Sure the misthress is not here at all." 

" I know she's not," said Doyle. " Who says a word 
against her?" 

" Sure you're talkin' to her yourself, sir." 

" Pooh, pooh, man! — you're dhrunk." 

" Ah, come to bed, Misther Doyle ! " said Tim, in an 
imploring tone. " Och sure, my heart's broke with you." 

" Don't say your heart's broke, my sweet landlady — my 
darling Mis. Fay ! the apple of my eye you are." 

" Konsense, Misther Doyle." 

" True as the sun, moon, and stars ! Apple of my eye, did 
I say? — I'd give the apples of my eyss to make sauce for the 
cockles of your heart. Mrs. Fay, darling, — don't be coy. Ha ! 
I have you fast ! " and he gripped the table closer. 

" Well, you are dhrunk, Misther Doyle! " said Tim. 

" I hope my breath is not offensive from drink, Mrs. Fay," 
said Doyle, in an amatory whisper to the leg of the table. 

" Ah, get out o' that Misther Doyle," said Tim ; accom- 
panying the exclamation with a good shake, which somewhat 
roused the prostrate form. 

"Who's there?" 

" I want you to come to bed, sir; — alt v don't be so foolish, 
Misther Doyle. Sure you don't think the misthress would be 
rowlin' on the flure there wid you, as dhrunk as a pig " — 

" Dare not wound her fame ! Who says a word of Mrs. 

" Arrah ! sure you're talkin' there about her this half-hour." 

" False villain ! — Whist, my darling," said he to the leg of 
the table — "I'll never betray you. Hug me tight, Mrs. 
Fay ! " 

" Bad luck to the care Fll take any more about you," saya 
Tim. " Sleep on the flure if you like.'-* And Doyle was left 
to pass the night in the soft imaginary delights of Mrs. Fay's 
mahogany embraces. 

How fared it with James Eeddy ? Alas ! poor James was 
doomed to a night of torment, the effects of which he remem- 
bered for many days after. In fact, had James been left to 
his choice, he would rather have slept with the house-dog than 
with the doctor; but he dreaded the consequences of letting 
old Jack perceive his antipathy; and visions of future chastise 
ment from the doctor's satirical tongue awed him into sub 
mission to the present punishment. Ho sneaked into bed 


therefore, and his deep potations ensured him immediate 
ek'up, from which he awoke, however, in the middle of the 
night in torture, from the deep scratches inflicted upon him by 
every kick of old Growling. At last poor Eeddy could stand 
it no longer, and the earliest hour of dawn revealed him to the 
doctor putting on his clothes, swearing like a trooper at one 
moment, and at the next apostrophising the genius of gentility. 
" V'hat it is to have to do with a person that is not a gen- 
tleman!" he exclaimed, as he pulled on one leg of his 

1 1*011 Sfl*S 

" What is the matter with you 1 " asked Old Jack from 
the bed. 

" The matter, sir, is, that I'm going." 

" Is it at this hour ! Tut, man, don't be a fool. Get into 
bed again." 

" Never, sir! with you at least. I have seldom slept two 
in a bed, Dr. Growling, for my gentlemanly habits forbid it ; 
but when circumstances have obliged me, it has been with 
gentlemen — gentlemen, doctor," and he laid a stress on the 
word. " Gentlemen, sir, who cut their toe-nails. Sir, I am a 
serious sufferer by your coarse habits ; you have scratched me, 
sir, nearly to death. I am one gore of blood " — 

" Tut, man ! 'twas not my nails scratched you ; it was only 
my spurs I put on going to bed, to keep you at a distance from 
me; you were so disgustingly drunk, my gentleman I — look 
there!" and he poked his eg out of bed, and there, sure 
enough, Eeddy saw a spur buckled : and, dumb-foundered at 
this evidence *f the doctor's atrocity, he snatched up his clothes, 
and rushed irom the room, as from the den of a bear. 

Murphy twisted a beneficial result to M'Garry out of the 
night's riotous frolic at his expense ; for, in the morning, taking 
advantage of the report of the inquest which he knew must 
have reached Neck-or-Notbing-Hall, he made a communication 
to O'Grady, so equivocally worded, that the Squire fell into the 
trap. The note ran as follows : — 

" Sir, — You must be aware that your act of yesterday has 
raised a strong feeling in the country against you, and that so 
flagrant a violation of the laws cannot fail to be visited with 
terrible severity upon you : for, though your position in rank 
places you far above the condition of the unfortunate man on 
whom you wreaked your vengeance, you know, sir, that in the 
eye of the law you are equal, and the shield of justice protects 
the peasant as well as the prince. Under these circumstances, 
sir, considering the awful consequences of your ungoverned 


rage (which, I douht not, now, you deplore), I would suggest 
to you by a timely offer of compromise, in the shape of a hand- 
some sum of money — say two hundred pounds— to lull the 
storms which must otherwise burst on your devoted head, and 
eave your name from dishonour, I anxiously await your 
answer, as proceedings must instantly commence, and the law 
take its course, unless Mrs. M'Garry can be pacified. 

" I have the honour to be, Sir, 

" Your most obedient Servant, 

"Mustough MuRriiY. 
" To Gustavus Granhj 0' Grady, Esq., 


O'Grady was thoroughly frightened ; and, strange as it 
may appear, did believe he could compromise for killing only a 
plebeian ; and actually sent Murphy his note of hand for the 
sum demanded. Murtough posted off to M'Garry : he and his 
wife received him with shouts of indignation, and heaped 
reproaches on his head, for the trick he had played on the 

" Oh ! Misther Murphy — never look me in the face again ;" 
said Mrs. M'Garry, who was ugly enough to make the request 
quite unnecessary; "to send my husband home to me a beast! " 

" Striped like a tiger ;" said M'Garry. 

" Blacking and pickled cabbage, Misther Murphy ! " said 
the wife. " Oh fie, sir ! — I did not think you could be so 

" Galvanism ! " said M'Garry, furiously. " My professional 
honour wounded ! " 

"Whisht, whisht, man!" said Murphy; "there's a finer 
plaister than any in your shop for the cure of wounded honour. 
Look at that!" — and he handed him the note for two 
hundred : " there's galvanism for you ! " 

" What is this?" said M'Garry, in amazement. 

" The result of last night's inquest," said Murphy. " You 
have got your damages without a trial ; so pocket your money, 
md be thankful." 

The two hundred pounds at once changed the aspect of 
iflairs. M'Garry vowed eternal gratitude, with protestations 
;hat Murphy was the cleverest attorney alive, and ought to be 
■:hief justice. The wife was equally vociferous in her acknow- 
ledgments, until Murtough, who, when he entered the house, 
ras near falling a sacrifice to the claws of the apothecary's 
vife, was obliged to rush from the premises to shun the more 
errible consequences of her embraces. 



We have sat so long at our dinner, that we have almost lost 
sight of poor Andy, to whom we must now return. When he 
ran to his mother's cabin, to escape from the fangs of Dick 
Dawson, there was no one within : his mother being digging a 
few potatoes for supper from the little ridge behind her house, 
and Oonah Riley, her niece — an orphan girl who lived with 
her — being up to Squire Egan's to sell some eggs; for round 
the pooi est cabins in Ireland you scarcely ever fail to see some 
ragged hens, whose eggs are never consumed by their proprie- 
tors, except, perhaps, on Easter Sunday, but sold to the neigh- 
bouring gentry at a trifling price. 

Andy cared not who was out or who was in, provided he 
could only escape from Dick ; so without asking any questions, 
he crawled under the wretched bed in the dark corner, where 
his mother and Oonah slept, and where the latter, through the 
blessed influence of health, youth, and an innocent heart, had 
brighter dreams than attended many a couch whose downy 
pillows and silken hangings would more than purchase the 
fee-simple of any cabin in Ireland. There Andy, in a state of 
utter exhaustion from his fears, his race, and his thrashing, 
soon fell asleep, and the terrors of Dick the Devil gave place to 
the blessing of the profoundest slumber. 

Quite unconscious of the presence of her darling Andy was 
the widow Eooney, as she returned from the potatoe ridge 
into her cabin ; depositing a skeough of the newly-dug esculent 
at the door, and replacing the spade in its own corner of the 
cabin. At the same moment Oonah returned, after disposing 
of her eggs, and handed the three pence she had received for 
them to her aunt, who dropped them into the deep pocket 
of blue striped tick which hung at her side. 

" Take the pail, Oonah, ma chree, and run to the well for 
some wather to wash the pratees, while I get the pot ready for 
bilin' them ; it wants scourin', for the pig was atin' his dinner 
out iv it, the craythur !" 

Off went Oonah with her pail, which she soon filled from 
the clear spring : and placing the vessel on her head, walked 
back to the cabin with that beautiful erect form, free step, and 


graceful swaying of the figure, s«. f«)euliar to the women of 
Ireland and the East, from their Labit of carrying weights 
upon the head. The potatoes were ^oon washed; and as they 
got their last dash of water in the sluough, whose open wicker- 
work let the moisture drain from thun, up came Larry Ho«:an, 
who, being what is called a " civil-spoken man," addressed Mrs. 
Rooney in the following agreeable rt-anner : — > 

" Them's purty pratees, Mrs. Rooney ; God save you 
ma'am ! " 

" 'Deed an' they are — thank you kindly, Mr. Hogan ; God 
save you and yours too! And how vuuld the woman that own/ 
you be?" 

" Hearty, thank you." 

" Will you step in?" 

" No, I'm obleeged to you — I mu4 be aff home wid me; but 
I'll just get a coal for my pipe, foj it wint out on me awhile 
agone with the fright." 

" Well, I've heer'd quare things, Ij&try Hogan," said Oonah, 
laughing and showing her white tee At; " but I never heer'd so 
quare a thing as a pipe goin' out witi) the fright." 

" Oh, how sharp you are ! — takin' *ne upafore they're down." 

" Not afore they're down, Larry for you said it." 

" Well, if I was down, you weri< down on me, so you are 
down too, you see. Ha, ha! Ant, ai'ther all now, Oonah, a 
pipe is like a Christian in many ways : sure it's made o' clay 
like a Christian, and has the spark t' !ife in it, and while the 
breath is in it the spark is alive ; hu'i when the breath is out of 
it the spark dies, and then it grows owld like a Christian ; and 
isn't it a pleasant companion like a Christian?" 

"Faix, some Christians isn't pleasant companions at all!" 
chimed in Mrs. Rooney, sententious! y. 

" Well, but they ought to be," «aid Larry ; " and isn't a 
pipe sometimes cracked like a Christian, and isn't ii sometimes 
choked like a Christian ?" 

" Oh, choke you and your pipe together, Larry 1 will you 
never have done ?" said the widow. 

" The most improvinist thing in die world is smokin'," said 
Larry, who had now relit his pipe, and squatted Mmself on ^ 
three-legged stool beside the widow's fire. "Thb most im- 
provinist in the world" — (paugh!) — and a parenthetical vhifl 
of tobacco-smoke curled out of the corner of Larry's mouth— 
"is smokin': for the smoke shows you, as it were, the life 
o' man passih' away like a puff— (paugh!)— just like that ; and 
the tibakky turns to ashes like his poor perishable bo4y ; for, 
aa the song says— 


'■ ' Tibakky is an Indian weed, 
Alive at morn and dead at eve j 
It lives but an hour, 
Is cut down like a flower. 
Think o' this when you're smoking tiba-akky !' " 

And Larry sung: the ditty as he crammed some of the weea 
into the bowl of his pipe with his little finger. 

" Why, you're as good as a sarmint this evenin', Larry," 
said the widow, as she lifted the iron pot on the fire. 

" There's worse sarmints nor that, I can tell you," rejoined 
Larry, who took up the old song again — > 

" ' A pipe it lams us all this thing — 
'Tis fair without and foul within, 
Just like the sowl begrim'd with sin. 
Think o' this when you're smoking tiba-akky!' " 

Larry puffed away silently for a few minutes, and when 
Oonah had placed a few sods of turf round the pot in an up- 
right position, that the flame might curl upward round them, 
and so hasten the boiling, she drew a stool near the fire, and 
asked Larry to explain about the fright. 

"Why, I was coming up by the cross-road there, when 
what should I see but a ghost" — 

" A ghost! ! !'' exclaimed the widow and Oonah, with sup- 
pressed voices, and dis-tended mouth and eyes. 

" To all appearance," said Larry; "but it was only a thing 
was stuck in the hedge to freken whoever was passin' by; and as 
I kem up to it there was a groan, so I started, and looked at it 
for a minit, or thereaway ; but I seen what it was, and threwn 
a stone at it, for fear I'd be mistaken : and I heer'd tittherin 
inside the hedge, and then I knew 'twas only devilment of 
some one." 

" And what was it ?" asked Oonah. 

" 'Twas a horse's head, in throth, with an owld hat on the 
top of it, and two buck-briars stuck out at each side, and some 
rags hanging on them, and an owld breeches shakin' undher 
the head : 'twas just altogether like a long pale-faced man, with 
high shouldhers and no body, and very long arms and short 
legs : — faith, it frightened me at first." 

" And no wondher," said Oonah. " Dear, but I think I'd 
lose my life if I seen the like 1" 

" But sure," said the widow, " wouldn't you know that 
ghosts never appears by day!" 

" Ay, but I hadn't time to think o' that, bein' taken short 


wid the fright — more betoken, 'twas the place tne murdher 
happened in long- ago." 

" Sure enough, said the widow. " God betune us and 
harm!" and she marked herself with the sign of the cross as 
she spoke ; "and a terrible murdher it was," added she. 

''How was it?" inquired Oonah, drawing her seat closer 
to her aunt and Larry." 

" 'Twas a schoolmaster, dear, that was found dead on th<s 
road one mornin', with his head full of fractions," said the 

" All in jommethry,'*'* said Larry. 

" And some said he fell off the horse," said the widow. 

" And more say the horse fell on him," said Larry." 

,( And again, there was some said the horse kicked him in 
the head," said the widow. 

" And there was talk of shoe-aside," said Larry. 

" The horse's shoe was it?'' asked Oonah. 

" No, alanna," said Larry; "shoe-aside is Latin for cutting 
ycur throat." 

" But he didn't cut his throat," said the widow. 

" But sure it's all one whether he done it wid a razhir on 
his throat, or a hammer on his head ; it's shoe-aside all the 

" But there was no hammer found, was there ?" said the 

" No," said Larry. " But some people thought he might 
have hid the hammer afther he had done it, to take off the 
disgrace of the shoe-aside." 

"But wasn't there any life in him when he was found?'' 

" Not a taste. The crowner's jury sot on him, and he never 
said a word agin it, and if he was alive he would." 

"And didn't they find anything at all?" said Oonah. 

" Nothing but the vardict," said Larry. 

" And was that what killed him?" said Oonah. 

" No, my dear ; 'twas the crack in the head that killed him, 
however he kem by it; but the vardict o' the crowner was, 
that it was done, and that some one did it, and that they wor 
blackguards, whoever they wor, and persons onknown ; and 
sure if they wor onknown then, they'd always stay so, fol 
who'd know them afther doing the like?" 

" Thrue for you, Larry," said the widow ; "but what was 
that to the murdher over at the green hills beyant ?" 

• Anything very badly broken is said by the Irish peasantry to be in 


"Oh! that was the fpxriblest murdher ever was in th« 
place, or nigh it : that was the murdher in earnest !" 

With that eagerness which always attends the relation of 
horrible stories, Larry and the old woman raked up every 
murder and robbery that had occurred within their recollection, 
while Oonah listened with mixed curiosity and fear. The 
boiling' over of the pot at length recalled them to a sense of tin 
business that ought to be attended to at the moment, and Larrv 
was invited to take share of the potatoes. This he declined ; 
declaring, as he had done some time previously, that he must 
" be off home," and to the door he went accordingly : but as 
the evening had closed into the darkness of the night, he 
paused on opening it with a sensation he would not have liked 
to own. The fact was that after the discussion of numerous 
nightly murders, he would rather have had daylight on the 
outside of the cabin ; for the horrid stories that had been revived 
round the blazing hearth were not the best preparation for 
going a lonely road on a dark night. But go he should, and 
go he did; and it is not improbable that the widow, from 
sympathy, had a notion why Larry paused upon the threshold ; 
for the moment he had crossed it, and that they had exchanged 
their " Good night, and God speed you," the door was rapidly 
closed and boltect. The widow returned to the fire-side and 
was silent, while Oonoh looked by the light of a candle into the 
boiling pot, to ascertain if the potatoes were yet done, and cast 
a fearful glance up the wide chimney as she withdrew from the 

" I wish Larry did not tell us such horrid stories," said 
she, as she laid the rushlight on the table ; " I'll be dhramin' 
all night o' them." 

"'Deed an' that's thrue," said the widow; "I wish ha 

" Sure you was as bad yourself," said Oonah. 

" Troth, an' I b'lieve I was, child, and I'm sorry for it now i 
but let us ate our supper, and go to bed, in God's name." 

" I'm afeard o' my life to go to bed !" said Oonah. " Wisha 1 
but I'd give the world it was mornin'." 

" Ate your supper, child, ate your supper," said her aunt, 
giving the example, which was followed by Oonah; and after 
the light meal, their prayers were said, arid perchance with a 
little extra devotion, from their peculiar state of mind ; then 
to bed they went. The rushlight being extinguished, the only 
light remaining was that shed from the red embers of the de- 
caying fire, which cast so uncertain a glimmer within the cabin 
that its effect was almost worse than utter darkness to a timid' 


person, for any object within its range assumed a form unlike 
its own, and presented some fantastic image to the eye; and as 
Oonah, contrary to her usual habit, could not fall asleep me 
moment she went to bed, she could not resist peering - forth from 
under the bed-clothes through the uncertain gloom, in a painful 
state of watchfulness, which became gradually relaxed into an 
uneasy sleep. 

The night was about half spent when Andy began to awake ; 
and as he stretched his arms, and rolled his whole body round, 
he struck the bottom of the bed above him in the action and 
woke his mother. "Dear me," thought the widow, "I can't 
sleep at all to-night." Andy gave another turn soon after 
which roused Oonah. She started, and shaking her aunt, asked 
her, in a low voice, if it was she who kicked her, though she 
scarcely hoped an answer in the affirmative, and yet dared not 
believe what her fears whispered. 

" No, a cuslila,'' whispered the aunt. 

" Did you feel anything - V asked Oonah, trembling violently. 

" What do you mane, alanna ?" said the aunt. 

Andy gave another roll. " There it is again I" gasped 
Oonah ; and in a whisper, scarcely above her breath, she added, 
"Aunt — there's some one under the bed!" 

The aunt did not answer ; but the two women drew closer 
together and held each other in their arms, as if their proximity 
afforded protection. Thus they lay in brez.thless fear for some 
minutes, while Andy began to be influenced by a virion, in 
which the duel, and the chase, and the thrashing, were all 
enacted over again, and soon an odd word began to escape from 
the dream. " Gi' me the pist'l, Dick — the pist'l !" 

"There are two of them!" whispered Oonah. "God be 
merciful to us ! Do you here him asking for the pistol?" 

" Screech !" said her aunt. 

" I can't," said Oonah. 

Andy was quiet for some time, while the women scarcely 

" Suppose we get up, and make for the door?" said the aunt. 

" I wouldn't put my foot out of the bed for the world," said 
Oonah. " I'm afeard one o' them will catch me by the leg." 

" Howld him ! liowld him !" grumbled Andy. 

"I'll die with the fright, aunt! I feel I'm dyin'! Let us 
say our prayers, aunt, for we're goin' to be murdhered I" The 
two women began to repeat with fervour their aves and pater- 
nosters, while at this immediate juncture, Andy's dream having 
borne him to the dirty ditch where Dick Dawson had pom- 
qielled him, he began to vociferate, "Murder, murder!" so 

?« HANI** AND*. 

fiercely, that the women screamed together in an agony of 
terror, and " Murder ! Murder !" was shouted by the whole 
party ; for once the widow and Oonah found their voices, they 
made good use of them. The noise awoke Andy, who had, be 
it remembered, a tolerably long sleep by this time: and he 
javing quite forgotten where he had lain down, and finding 
himself confined by the bed above him, and smothering for 
want of air, with the fierce shouts of murder ringing in his ears, 
woke in as great a fright as the women in the bed, and became 
a party in the terror he himself had produced ; every plunge he 
gave under the bed inflicted a poke or a kick on his mother and 
cousin which was answered by the cry of " Murder !" 

" Let me out — let me out, Misther Dick!" roared Andy. 
" Where am I at all ? Let me out !" 

" Help ! help ! murdher !" roared the women, 

" I'll never shoot any one again, Misther Dick — let me up!" 

Andy scrambled from under the bed, half awake, and whole 
frightened by the darkness and the noise, which was now in- 
creased by the barking of the cur-dog. 

" Hie at him, Coaly J'' roared Mrs. Rooney ; " howld him ! 
howld him!" 

Now as this address was often made to the cur respecting 
the pig, when Mrs. Rooney sometimes wanted a quiet moment 
in the day, and the pig didn't like quitting the premises, the dog 
ran to the corner of the cabin where the pig habitually lodged, 
and laid hold of his ear with the strongest testimonials of 
affection, which polite attention the pig acknowledged by a pro- 
longed squealing, that drowned the voices of the women and 
Andy together ; and now the cocks and hens that were roosting 
on the rafters of the cabin were startled by the din, and the 
crowing and cackling', and the flapping of the frightened fowls 
as they flew about in the dark, added to the general uproar and 

" A — h !" screamed Oonah, " take your hands off me !" qs 
Andy getting from under the bed, laid his hand upon it to 
assist him, and caught a grip of his cousin. 

" Who are you at all?" cried Andy, making another elaw, 
and catching hold of his mother's nose. • 

" Oonah, they're murdhering me!" shouted the widow. ' 

The name of Oonah, and the voice of his mother, recall' d 
his senses to Andy, who shouted, "Mother, mother! what's the 
matter?" A frightened hen flew in his face, and nearly knocked 
Andy down. "Bad cess to you," cried Andy, " what do vou 
hit me for?" ' 

" Whp arc vou at all?" cried the widuw. 


"Don't you know me?" said Andy. 

"' No, I don't know you ; by the vartue o' my oath, I don't; 
fcnd I'll never swear again you, jintlemen, it' you lave the 
place and spare our lives !" 

Here the hens flew against the dresser, and smash went the 
plates and dishes. 

" Oh, jintleman dear, don't rack and ruin me that way : 
don't destroy a lone woman." 

" Mother, mother, what's this at all ? Don't you know your 
own Andy?" 

"Is it you that's there?" cried the widow, catching hold of 

"To be sure it's me," said Andy. 

" You won't let us be murdhered, will you ?" 

" Who'd murdher you?" 

" Them people that's with you." Smash went another plate. 
"Do you hear that? — they're rackin' my place, the villains! " 

" Divil a one's wid me at all ! " said Andy. 

" I'll take my oath there was three or four under the bed," 
said Oonah. 

" Not one but myself," said Andy. 

" Are you sure? " said his mother. 

"Cock sure!" said Andy, and a loud crowing gave evi 
dence in favour of his assertion. 

" The fowls is going mad," said the widow. 

" And the pig's distracted," said Oonah. 

" No wonder! the dog's murdherin' him," said Andy. 

" Get up and light the rushlight, Oonah," said the widow • 
"you'll get a spark out o' the turf cendhers." 

" Some 0' them will catch me, maybe," said Oonah. 

" Get up, I tell you ! " said the widow. 

Oonah now arose, and groped her way to the fireplace, 
where, by dint of blowing upon the embers and poking the 
rushlight among the turf ashes, a light was at length obtained. 
She then returned to the bed, and threw her petticoat over her 

"What's this at all?" said the widow, rising, and wrapping a 
blanket round her. 

"Bad cess to the know I know!" said Andy. 

" Look under the bed, Oonah," said the aunt. 

Oonah obeyed, and screamed, and ran behind Andy. 
■• There's another here yet! " said she. 

Andy seized the poker, and standing on the defensive, de- 
sired the villain to come out: the demand was not complied 
with q 


"There's nobody there," said Andy. 

"I'll take my oath there is," said Oonah; " a dirty black- 
guard, without any clothes on him." 

"Come out, you robber!" said Andy, making a lungs 
under the truckle. 

A grunt ensued, and out rushed the pig, who had escaped 
from the dog — the dog having discovered a greater attraction 
in some fat that was knocked from the dresser, which the widow 
intended for the dipping of rushes in; but the dog being en- 
lightened to his own interest without rushlights, and preferring 
mutton fat to pig's ear, had suffered the grunter to go at large, 
while he was captivated by the fat. The clink of a three- 
legged stool the widow seized to the rescue was a stronger 
argument against the dog - than he was prepared to answer, 
and a remnant of fat was preserved from the rapacious 

"Where's the rest o' the robbers?" said Oonah; " there s 
three o' them, I know." 

" You're dhramin'," said Andy. " Divil a robber is here but 

"And what brought you here?" said his mother. 

"I was afeard they'd murdher me!" said Andy. 

"Murdher!" exclaimed the widow and Oonah together, 
still startled by the very sound of the word. " Who do you 

" Misther Dick," said Andy. 

" Aunt, I tell you," said Oonah, " this is some more of 
Andy's blundhers. Sure Misther Dawson wouldn't be goin' to 
murdher any one ; let us look round the cabin, and find out 
who's in it, for I won't be aisy ontil I look into every corner, to 
see there's no robbers in the place: for I tell you again, there 
was three o' them undher the bed." 

The search was made, and the widow and Oonah at length 
satisfied that there were no midnight assassins there with 
long knives to cut their throats ; and then they began to thank- 
God that their lives were safe. 

"But, oh! look at my chaynee," said the widow, clasping 
her hands, and casting a look of despair at the shattered delf 
that lay around her; " look at my chaynee!" 

"And what was it brought you here?" said Oonah, facing 
round on Andy, with a dangerous look, rather, in her bri°ht 
eye. " Will you tell us that— what was itr" ° 

" I came to save my life, I tell you," said Andy. 

" To put us in dhread of ours, you mane," said Oonah. "Just 
look at the omadhaun there," said she to her aunt, "standin' 


with his mouth open, just as if notliin' happened, and he after 
frightening the lives out of us." 

" Thrue for you, alanna" said her aunt. 

" And would no place sarve you, indeed, but undher our 
bed, you vagabone?" said his mother, roused. to a sense of his 
delinquency; "to come in like a merodin' villain as you are, 
and hide under the bed, and frighten the lives out of us, and 
rack and ruin my place!" 

" 'Twas Mist'her Dick, I tell you," said Andy. 

" Bad scran to you, you unlucky hangin' bone thief! '' criea 
the widow, seizing him by the hair, and giving him a hearty 
cuff on the ear, which would have knocked him down, only 
that Oonah kept him up by an equally well-applied box on the 

" Would you murdher me ? " shouted Andy, as he saw his 
mother lay hold of the broom. 

" Ar'nt you afther frightenin' the lives out of us, you dirty, 
good-for-nothing, mischief-making" — 

On poured the torrent of abuse, rendered more impressive by 
& whack at every, word. Andy roared, and the more he roared 
the more did Oonah and his mother thrash him. 


" Love rules tlie camp, the court, the grove, 
And men below and saints above : 
For Love is Heaven, and Heaven is Love— " 

So sang Scott. Quite agreeing with the antithesis of the 
la^t line, perhaps in the second, where he talks of men and 
saints, another view of the subject, or turn of the phrase,_ might 
have introduced sinners quite as successfully. This is said 
without the smallest intention of using the word sinners in a 
questionable manner. Love, in its purest shape, may lead to 
sinning on the part of persons least interested in the question ; 
for is it not a sin when the folly, or caprice, or selfishness of a 
third party or fourth makes a trio or quartette of that which 
nature undoubtedly intended for a duet, and so swh it? 


Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts — ay, and 
even cousins — sometimes put in their oar to disturb that stream 
which is troubled enough without their interference, and, &8 
the bard of Avon says — 

" Never did run smooth." 

And so it was in the case of Fanny Dawson and Edward 
O'Connor. A piece of innocent fun on the part of her brother, 
and blind pertinacity — indeed, downright absurdity — on hei 
father's side, interrupted the intercourse of affection, which had 
subsisted silently for many a long day between the lovers, but 
was acknowledged at last, with delight to the two whom it 
most concerned, and satisfaction to all who knew or held them 
dear. Yet the harmony of this sweet concordance of spirits 
was marred by youthful frolic and doting absurdity. This 
welding together of hearts in the purest fire of nature's own 
contriving, was broken at a blow by a weak old man. Is it too 
much to call this a sin ? Less mischievous things are branded 
with the name in the common-place parlance of the world. 
The cold and phlegmatic may not understand this ; but they 
who can love know how bitterly every after-hour of life may 
be poisoned with the taint which hapless love has infused into 
the current of future years, and can believe how many a heart 
equal to the highest enterprise has been palsied by the touch of 
despair. Sweet and holy is the duty of child to parent ; but 
sacred also is the obligation of those who govern in so hallowed 
a position. Their rule should be guided by justice ; they 
should pray for judgment in their mastery. 

Fanny Dawson's father was an odd sort of person. Hi? 
ancestors wera settlers in Ireland of the time of William the 
Third, and having won their lands by the sword, it is quite 
natural the love of arms should have been hereditary in the 
family. Mr. Dawson, therefore, had served many years as a 
soldier, and was a bit of a martinet, not only in military but all 
other affairs. His mind was of so tenacious a character, that 
an impression once received there became indelible ; and if the 
Major once made up his mind, or indulged the belief, that such 
and such things were so and so, the waters of truth could never 
wash out the mistake — stubbornness had written them there 
Jvith her own indelible marking-ink. 

Now, one of the old gentleman's weak points was a museum 
of the most heterogeneous nature, consisting of odds and ends 
from all parts of the world, and appertaining to all subjects. 
Nothing was too high or too low : a bronze helmet from the 


plains of Marathon, which, to the classic eye of an artist, con- 
veyed the idea of a Minerva's head beneath it, would not have 
been more prized by the Major than a cavalry cap with some 
bullet-mark of which he could tell an anecdote. A certain skin 
of a tiger he prized much, because the animal had dined on his 
dearest friend in one of the jungles of Bengal ; also a pistol, 
which he vouched for as being the one with which Hatfield 
fired at George the Third ; the hammer with which Crawley 
(of Hessian-boot memory) murdered his landlady : the string 
which was on Viotti's violin when he played before Queeo 
Charlotte ; the horn which was supposed to be in the lantern 
of Guy Fawkes ; a small piece of the coat worn by the Prince 
of Orange on his landing in England ; and other such relics. 
But far above these, the Major prized the skeleton of a horse's 
head, which occupied the principal place in his museum. This 
he declared to be part of the identical horse which bore Duke 
Schomberg when he crossed the Boyne, in the celebrated battle 
so called ; and with whimsical ingenuity, he had contrived to 
string some wires upon the bony fabric, which yielded a sort of 
hurdy-gurdy vibration to the strings when touched: and the 
Major's most favourite feat was to play the tune of the Boyne 
Water on the head of Duke Schomberg's horse. In short, his 
collection was composed of trifles from north, south, east, and 
west. Some leaf from the prodigal verdure of India, or gorgeous 
shell from the Pacific, or paw of bear, or tooth of walrus; but 
beyond all teeth, one pre-eminently was valued — it was one of 
his own, which he had lost the use of by a wound in the jaw, 
received in action ; and no one ever entered his house and 
escaped without hearing all about it, from the first shot fired in 
£he affair by the skirmishers, to the last charge of the victorious 
cavalry. The tooth was always produced along with the atory, 
together with the declaration, that every dentist who evei saw 
it protested it was the largest human tooth ever seen. lVow 
some little sparring was not unfrequent between old Mr. 
Dawson and Edward, on the subject of their respective 
museums : the old gentleman " pooh-poohing " Edward's 
" rotten, rusty rubbish," as he called it, and Edward defending, 
as gently as he could, his patriotic partiality for national 
antiquities. This little war never led to any evil results : for 
Edward not only loved Fanny too well, but respected age too 
much to lean hard on the old gentleman's weakness, or seek to 
reduce his fancied superiority as a collector ; but the tooth, the 
ill-omened tooth, at last gnawed asunder the bond of friendship 
and affection which had subsisted between the two families for 
so many years. 


The Major had paraded his tooth so often, that Dick Daweoa 
began to tire of it, and for the purpose of making it a source of 
amusement to himself, he stole his father's keys one day, and 
opening the cabinet in which his tooth was enshrined, he 
abstracted the grinder which Nature had bestowed on the 
Major, and substituted in its stead a horse's tooth of no con- 
temptible dimensions. A party some days after dined with the 
old gentleman, and after dinner the story of the skirmish turned 
up, as a matter of course, and the enormous size of the tooth 
wound up the tedious tale. 

"Hadn't you better show it to them, sir V said Dick, from 
the foot of the table. 

"Indeed, then, I will," said the Major, "for it really is a 

" Let me go for it, sir," said Dick, well knowing he would 
be refused. 

" No, no," answered his father, rising ; " I never let any 
one go to my pet cabinet but myself;" and so saying he left the 
room, and proceeded to his museum. It has been already said, 
that the Major's mind was of that character, which once being 
satisfied of anything could never be convinced of the contrary ; 
and having for years been in the habit of drawing his own 
tooth out of his own cabinet, the increased size of the one which 
he now extracted from it never struck him ; so he returned to the 
dining-room, and presented with great exultation to the company 
the tooth Dick had substituted. It may be imagined howthe peo- 
plestared, when an old gentleman, and moreover a Major, declared 
upon his honour, that a great horse's tooth was his own ; but 
having- done so, politeness forbade they s/iould contradict him, 
more particularly at the head of his own table, so they smothered 
their smiles as well as they could, and declared it was the most 
wonderful tooth they ever beheld : and instead of attempting to 
question the fact, they launched forth in expressions of admira- 
tion and surprise, and the fable, instead of being questioned, 
was received with welcome, and made food for mirth. The dif- 
ficulty was not to laugh ; and in the midst of twisted mouths, 
affected sneezing, and applications of pocket-handkerchiefs to 
rebellious cachinnations, Dick, the maker of the joke, sat un- 
moved, sipping his claret with a serenity which might have 
roused the envy of a red Indian. 

" I think that's something like a tooth!" said Dick. 

" Prodigious — wonderful — tremendous ; " ran round the 

" Give it to me again," said one. 

" Let me look at it once more." said another. 


" Colossal .''exclaimed a third. 

" Gigantic !" shouted all, as the tooth made the circuit of the 

The Major was delighted, and never remembered his tooth 
to have created such a sensation; and when at last it was 
returned to him, he turned it about in his own hand, and cast 
many fond glances at the monstrosity, before it was finally 
deposited in his waistcoat pocket. This was the most ridiculous 
part of the exhibition : to see a gentleman, with the use of his 
eyes, looking affectionately at a thumping horse's tooth, and 
believing it to be his own. Yet this was a key to the Major's 
whole character. A received opinion was with him unchange- 
able, no alteration of circumstances could shake it : it was his 
tooth. A belief or a doubt was equally sacred with him ; and 
though his senses in the presentcase should have shown him it 
was a horse's tooth — no, it was a piece of himself — his own dear 

After this party, the success which crowned his anecdote and 
its attendant relic, made him fonder of showing it off; and 
many a day did Dick the Devil enjoy the astonishment of visi- 
tors as his father exhibited the enormous tooth as his own. 
Fonder and fonder grew the Major of his tooth and his story, 
until the unlucky day Edward O'Connor happened to be in the 
museum with a party of ladies, to whom the old gentleman was 
showing off his treasures with great effect and some pains ; for 
the Major, like most old soldiers, was very attentive to the fair 
sex. At last the pet cabinet was opened, and out came the tooth, 
One universal exclamation of surprise arose on its appearance : 
" What a wonderful man the Major was to have such a tooth!" 
Just then, by an unlucky chance, Edward, who had not seen 
the Major produce the wonder from his cabinet, perceived the 
relic in the hand of one of the ladies at the extremity of the 
group, and fancying it had- dropped from the horse's head, he 
eaid — 

" I suppose that is one of the teeth out of old Schomberg'e 

The Major thought this an impertinent allusion to his poli- 
tical bias, and said, very sharply, " What do you mean Dy old 
Schomberg ? '' 

" The horse's head, sir," replied Edward, pointing to the 
musical relic. 

" It was of my tooth you spoke, sir, when you said ' old 
Schomberg,' " returned the Major, still more offended at what 
he considered Edward's evasion. 

" I assure -<-ou," said Edward, with the strongest evidence of 


'■ desire to be reconciled in his voice and manner, " I assure you 
ur, n Was of this tooth I spoke ;" and he held up the tooth the 
Major had produced as his own. 

" I know it was, sir," said the Major, "and therefore I 
■Tidn't relish your allusions to my tooth." 

" Your tooth, sir," exclaimed Edward, in surprise. 

" Yes sir, mine !" 

' ' My dear sir," said Edward, " there is some mistake nere ; 
this is a horse's tooth." 

"Give it to me, sir!" said the Major, snatching- it from Ed- 
ward. "You may think this very witty, Mr. O'Connor, but I 
don't ; if my tooth is of superhuman size, I'm not to be called a 
horse for it, sir ! — nor Schomberg, sir ! — horse — ahem ! better 
than ass, however." 

While this brief but angry outbreak took place, the by- 
standers, of course, felt excessively uncomfortable ; and poor 
Edward knew not what to do. The Major he knew to be of too 
violent a temper to attempt explanation for the present; so, 
bowing to the ladies, he left the room, with that flushed look of 
silent vexation to which courteous youth is sometimes obliged 
to submit at the hands of intemperate age. 

Neither Fannv nor Dick was at home when this occurred, so 
Edward quitted the house, and was forbidden to enter it after- 
wards. The Major suddenly entertained a violent dislike to 
Edward O'Connor, and hated even to hear his name mentioned. 
It was in vain that explanation was attempted ; his self-love 
had received a violent shock, of which Edward had been the in- 
nocent means. In vain did Dick endeavour to make himself the 
peace-offering to his father's wounded consequence; in vain was 
it manifest that Fanny was grieved : the old Major persisted in 
declaring that Edward O'Connor was a self-sufficient jackanapes, 
and forbade most peremptorily that farther intercourse should 
take place between him and his daughter ; and she had too high 
a sense of duty, and he of honour, to seek to violate the com- 
mand. But though they never met, they loved not the less 
fondly and truly ; and Dick, grieved that a frolic of his should 
have interrupted the happiness of a sister he loved and a friend 
he valued, kept up a sort of communion between them by talk- 
ing to Edward about Fanny, and to Fanny about Edward, 
whose last song was sure, through the good offices of the bro- 
ther, to find its way into the sister's album, already stored with 
many a tribvte from her lover's muse. 

Fanny was a sweet creature — one of those choice and 
piquant bits of Nature's creation which she sometimes vouch- 
safes to treat thfe woud with, just <■"' -i»?w what sh'^nan do. 


Her person I shall not attempt to describe ; for however one 
may endeavour to make words play the part of colour, linea- 
ment, voice, and expression — and however successfully — still a 
verbal description can never convey a true notion of personal 
charms; and personal charms Fanny had, decidedly; not that 
she was strictly beautiful, but, at times, nevertheless, eclipsing 
beauty far more regular, and throwing 1 symmetry into the 
shade, by some charm which even they whom it fascinated 
could not deiine. 

Her mind was as clear and pure as a mountain stream ; and 
if at times it chafed and was troubled from the course in 
which it ran, the temporary turbulence only made its limpid 
depth and quietness more beautiful. Her heart was the very 
temple of generosity, the throne of honour, and the seat of 
tenderness. The gentlest sympathies dwelt in her soul, and 
answered to the slightest call of another's grief; while mirth 
was dancing in her eye, a word that implied the sorrow of 
another would bring a tear there. She was the sweetest crea- 
ture in the world ! 

The old Major, used to roving habits from his profession, 
would often go on a ramble somewhere for weeks together, at 
which times Fanny went to Merryvale to her sister, Mistress 
Egan, who was also a fine-hearted creature, but less soft and 
sentimental than Fanny. She was of the dashing school 
rather, and before she became the mother of so large a family, 
thought very little of riding over a gate or a fence. Indeed 
it was her high mettle that won her the Squire's heart. The 
story is not long, and it may as well be told here — though a 
little out of place, perhaps ; but it's an Irish story, and may 
therefore be gently irregular. 

The squire had admired Letitia Dawson, as most of the 
young men of her acquaintance did — appreciated her round 
waist and well-turned ankle, her spirited eyes and cheerful 
laugh, and danced with her at every ball as much as any other 
fine girl in the country : but never seriously thought of her as 
a wife, until one day a party visited the parish church, whose 
old tower was often ascended for the fine view it commanded. 
At this time the tower was under repair, and the masons were 
drawing up materials in a basket, which, worked by rope and pul- 
ley, swung on a beam protruding from the top of the tower. The 
basket had just been lowered for a fresh load of stones, when 
Letitia exclaimed, "Wouldn't it be fine fun to get into the 
basket, and be hauled up to the top of the tower? — how 
astonished th^ workmen would be to see a lady get out of it!" 


" I would be more astonished to see a lady get into it," said 
a gentleman present. 

" Then here goes to astonish you," said Letitia, laying hold 
of the rope and jumping into the basket. In vain did her 
friends and the workmen below endeavour to dissuade her; 
up she would go, and up she did go ; and it was during her 
ascent that Egan and a friend were riding towards the church. 
Their attention was attracted by so strange a sight : and, spur- 
ring onward, Egan exclaimed, " By the powers ! 'tis Letty 
Dawson! Welf done. Letty! — you're the right girl for my 
money ! By Jove ! if ever I marry, Letty's the woman." 
And sure enough she was the woman, in another month. 

Now, Fanny would not have done the basket feat, but she 
had plenty of fun in her, notwithstanding ; her spirits were 
light ; and though, for some time, she felt deeply the separation 
from Edward, she rallied after a while, felt that unavailing 
sorrow but impaired the health of the mind, and, supported by 
her good sense, she waited in hopefulness for the time that 
Edward might claim and win her. 

At Merryvale now all was expectation about the anticipated 
election. The ladies were making up bows of ribbon for their 
partizans, and Fanny had been so employed all the morning 
alone in the drawing-room ; her pretty lingers pinching, and 
pressing, and stitching the silken favours, while now and then 
her hand wandered to a wicker-basket which lay beside her, to 
draw forth a scissors or a needlecase. As she worked, a shade 
of thought crossed her sweet face, like a passing - cloud across 
the sun ; the pretty fingers stopped — the work was laid down 
—and a small album gently drawn from the neighbouring 
basket. She opened the book and read ; they were lines of 
Edward O'Connor's, which she drank into her heart; they 
were the last he had written, which her brother had heard hini 
eing and had brought her. 

%\z Imofn. 

An old man sadly said, 

"Where's the snow 
That fell the year that's fled?— 

Where's the snow ?" 
As fruitless were the task 
Of many a joy to ask, 

As the snow ! 



The hope of airy birth, 

Like the snow ! 
its stain'd on reaching earth, 

Like the snow : 
While 'tis sparkling in the ray 
'Tis melting fast away 

Like the snow ! 


A cold, deceitful thing 

Is the snow, 
Though it come on dove-like wing— 

The false snow ! 
'Tis but rain disguised appears ; 
And our hopes are frozen tears, 

Like the snow! 

A tear did course down Fanny's cheek as she read the last 
couplet; and, closing the book and replacing" it in the little 
basket, she sighed, and said, " Poor fellow I — I wish he were 
aot so sad ! " 


Love is of as many patterns, cuts, shapes, and colours, as 

People's garments ; and the loves of Edward O'Connor arid 
'anny Dawson had very little resemblance to the tender passion 
which agitated the breast of the widow Flanagan, and made 
Tom Durfy her slave. Yet the widow and Tom demand the 
offices of the chronicler as well as the more elevated pair ; and 
this our veracious history could never get on, if we exhausted 
all our energies upon the more engaging personages, to the 
neglect of the rest ; your plated handles, scrolls, and mountings, 
are all very well on your carriage, but it could not move with- 
out its plain iron bolts. 

Now the reader must know something of the fair Mistresa 
Flanagan, who was left in very comfortable circumstances by 


a niggardly husband, who did her the favour to die suddenly 
one day, to the no small satisfaction of the pleasure -loving widow, 
who married him in an odd sort of a hurry, and got rid of him 
as quickly. Mr. Flanagan was engaged in supplying the 
export provision trade, which, every one knows, is considerable 
in Ireland ; and his dealings in beef and butter were extensive. 
This brought him into contact with the farmers for many miles 
round, whom he met, not only every market-day at every 
market-town in the county, but at their own houses, where a 
knife and fork were always at the service of the rich buyer. 
One of these was a certain Mat Riley, who, on small means, 
managed to live, and rear a son and three bouncing, good- 
looking girls, who helped to make butter, feed calves, and 
superintend the edMcation of pigs; and on these active and 
comely lasses Mr. Flanagan often cast an eye of admira- 
tion, with a view to making one of them his wife ; for 
though he might have had his pick and choice of many fine 
girls in the towns he dealt in, he thought the simple, thrifty, 
and industrious habits of a plain farmer's daughter more likely 
to conduce to his happiness and profit — for in that principally 
lay the aforesaid happiness of Mr. Flanagan. Now, this inten- 
tion of honouring one of the three Miss Rileys with promotion, 
he never hinted at in the remotest degree, and even in his 
own mind the thought was mixed up with fat cattle and prices 
current ; and it was not until a leisure moment one day, when 
he was paying Mat Riley for some of his farming produce, that 
he broached the subject thus : 

" Mat." 


" I'm thinking o' marrying." 

" Well, she'll have a snug house, whoever she is, Misther 

" Them's fine girls o' yours." 

Poor Mat opened his eyes with delight at the prospect of 
such a match for one of his daughters, and said they were 
" comely lumps o' girls, sure enough; but what was betther, 
they wor good." 

" That's what I'm thinking," says Flanagan. " There's two 
ten-poun' notes, and a five, and one is six, and one is seven ; 
and three tenpinnies is two-and-sixpence ; that's twenty- seven 
poun' two-and-sixpence; eight-pence-ha'permy is the lot; 
but I haven't copper in my company, Mat." 

" Oh, no matther, Misther Flanagan. And is it one o' my 
colleens you've been throwing the eye at, sir ?" 

" Yes, Mat, it is. You're askin' too much for them firkins?" 


" Ob, Mistlier Flanagan, consider it's prime butther. I'll 
back my girls for making up a bit o' butther agen any girls in 
Ireland ; and my cows is good, and the pasture prime." 

" 'Tis a farthing a poun' too high, Mat ; and the market 
not lively." 

" The butther is good, Mr. Flanagan ; and not decenther 
girls in Ireland than the same girls, though I'm their father." 

" I'm thinking I'll marry one o' them, Mat." 

" Sure, an' it's proud I'll be, sir ; and which o' them is it, 
may be ?" 

" Faith, I don't know myself, Mat. Which do you think, 

" Throth, myself doesn't know — they're all good. Nance 
is nice, and Biddy's biddable, and Kitty's cute." 

" You're a snug man, Mat ; you ought to be able to give a 
husband a trifle with them." 

"Nothing worth your while, anyhow, Misther Flanagan. 
But sure one o' my girls without a rag to her back, or a tack 
to her feet, would be betther help to an honest industherin' man, 
than one o' your showy lantherumswash divils out of a town, 
(bat would spend more than she'd bring with her." 

" That's thrue, Mat. I'll marry one o' your girls, I think." 

"You'll have my blessin', sir; and proud I'll be — and 
proud the girl ought to be — that I'll say. And suppose, now, 
you'd come over on Sunday, and take share of a plain man's 
dinner, and take your pick o' the girls — there's a fine bull 
goose that Nance towld me she'd have ready afther last mass ; 
for Father Ulick said he'd come and dine with us." 

" I can't, Mat ; I must be in the canal boat on Sunday ; 
but I'll go and breakfast with you to-morrow, on my way to 
Bill Mooney's, who has a fine lot of pigs to sell — remarkable 
fine pigs." 

" Well, we'll expect you to breakfast, sir." 

" Mat, there must be no nonsense about the wedding.' 

" As you plase, sir." 

" Just marry her off, and take her home. Short reckonings 
»ke long friends." 

" Thrue for you, sir." 

" Nothing to give with the girl you say ?" 

" My blessin' only, sir." 

"Well, you must throw in that butther, Mat, and take the 
farthin' off." 

"It's yours, sir," said Mat, delighted, loading Flanagan 
with " Good byes," and " God save yous," until they should 
meet next morning at breakfast. 


Mat rode home in great glee at the prospect of providing 
so well for one of his girls, and told them a man would be there 
the next morning to make choice of one of them for his wife. 
The girls, very naturally, inquired who the man was ; to which 
Mat, in the plenitude of patriarchal power, replied, " that was 
nothing to them ;'' and his daughters had sufficient experience 
of his temper to know there was no use in asking more ques- 
tions after such an answer. He only added, she would be 
" well off thatj should get him." Now, their father being such 
a curmudgeon it is no wonder the girls were willing to take 
the chance of a good-humoured husband instead of an iron- 
handed father ; so they set to work to make themselves as smart 
as possible for the approaching trial of their charms, and a battle 
royal ensued between the sisters as to the right and title to 
certain pieces of dress which were hitherto considered a sort 
of common property amongst them, and of which the occasion 
of a fair or a pattern,* or market-day, was enough to establish 
the possession, by whichever of the girls went to the public 
place ; but now, when a husband was to be won, privilege of 
all sorts was pleaded, in which discussion there was more noise 
than sound reason, and so many violent measures to secure 
the envied morceaux, that some destruction of finery took place 
where there was none to spare : and, at last, seniority was 
agreed upon to decide the question ; so that when Nance had 
the first plunder of the chest which held all their clothes in 
common, and Biddy made the second grab, poor Kitty had 
little left but her ordinary rags to appear in. But as, in the 
famous judgment on Ida's mount, it is hinted that Venus 
carried the day by her scarcity of drapery, so did Kitty con > 
quer by want of clothes ; not that Love sat in judgment : it 
was Plutus turned the scale. But, to leave metaphor and 
classic illustration, and go back to Mat Riley's cabin ; the girls 
were washing, and starching, and ironing all night, and the 
morning saw them arrayed for conquest. Flanagan came, and 
breakfasted, and saw the three girls. A flashy silk handker « 
chief which Nancy wore, put her hors de combat very soon; 
she was set down at once, in his mind, as extravagant. Biddy 
might have had a chance if she had made anything like a fair 
division with her youngest sister; but Kitty had belm so plun- 
dered, that her shabbiness won an easy victory over the nig- 
gard's heart; he saw in her "the making of a thrifty wife*;" 

,i * A haMrholy, half-merry meeting, held at some certain pi are oa 
the day dedicated to the saint who is supposed to be the patron of tl-a 
spot— hence the name " iattekn " 


besides which, she was possibly the best looking, and certainly 
the youngest of the three ; and there is no knowing how 
far old Flanagan might have been influenced by those con- 

lie spoke very little to any of the girls ; but, when he was 
leaving the house, he said to the father, as he was shaking 
hands with him, " Mat, I'll do it ;" and, pointing to Kitty, he 
added, " That's the one I'll have." 

Great was the rage of the elder sisters, for Flanagan was 
notoriously a wealthy man, and when he quitted the house, 
Kitty set up such a shout of laughter^ that her father and 
sisters told her several times " not to make a fool of herself.'' 
Still she laughed, and throughout the day sometimes broke out 
into sudden roars ; and while her sides shook with merriment, 
she would throw herself into a chair, or lean against the wall, 
to rest herself after the fatigue of her uproarious mirth. Now 
Kitty, while she laughed at the discomfiture of her greedy 
sisters, also laughed at the mistake into which Flanagan had 
fallen; for, as her father said of her, she was " cute," and she 
more than suspected the cause of Flanagan's choice, and 
enjoyed the anticipation of his disappointment, for she was 
fonder of dress than either Nancy or Biddy, and revelled in 
the notion of astonishing " the old niggard," as she called him ; 
and this she did " many a time and oft." In vain did Flanagan 
try to keep her extravagance within bounds. She would either 
wheedle, reason, bully, or shame him into doing what she said 
" was right and proper for a snug man like him." His house 
was soon well furnished : she made him get her a jaunting 
car. She sometimes wouldgo to parties, and no one was better 
dressed than the woman he chose for her rags. He got enraged 
now and then, but Kitty pacified him by soft words and daring 
inventions of her fertile fancy. Once, when he caught her in 
the fact of wearing a costly crimson silk gown, and stormed — 
she soothed him by telling him it washer old black one she had 
dyed ; and this bouncer, to the great amusement of her female 
friends, he loved to repeat, as a proof of what a careful con- 
triving creature he had in Kitty. She was naturally quick- 
witted. She managed him admirably, deceived him into being 
more comfortable than ever he had been before, and had the 
laudable ambition of endeavouring to improve both his and her 
own condition in every way. She set about educating herself, 
too, as far as her notions of education went ; and, in a few 
years after her marriage, by judiciously using the means which 
her husband's wealth afforded her of advancing her position in 
society, no one could have recognised in the lively and well- 


dressed Mrs. Flanagan the gawky daughter of « middling 
farmer. She was very good-natured, too, towards her sisters, 
whose condition she took care to improve with her own ; and 
a very fair match for the eldest was made through her means. 
The younger one was often staying in her house, dividing her 
time nearly between the town and her father's farm, and no 
party which Mrs. Flanagan gave or appeared at, went off 
without giving Biddy a chance to " settle herself in the world." 
This was not done without a battle now and then with old 
Flanagan, whose stinginess would exhibit itself upon occasion; 
but at last all let and hindrance to the merry lady ceased, 
by the sudden death of her old husband, who left her the 
entire of his property, so that, for the first time, his will 
was her pleasure. 

After the funeral of the old man, the " disconsolate widow" 
was withdrawn from her own house by her brother and sister 
to the farm, which grew to be a much more comfortable place 
than when Kitty left ; for to have remained in her own house 
after the loss of " her good man," would have been too hard on 
" the lone woman." So said her sister and her brother, 
though, to judge from the widow's eyes, she was not very 
heart-broken : she cried as much, no doubt, as young widows 
generally do after old husbands — and could Kitty be expected 
to do more ? 

She had not been many days in her widowhood, when Biddy 
asked her to drive into the town, where Biddy had to do a little 
shopping — that great business of ladies' lives. 

" Oh, Biddy, dear, I must not go out so soon.'' 

'"Twill do you good, Kitty." 

" I mustn't be seen, you know — 'twouldn't be right ; and 
poor dear Flanagan not buried a week !" 

" Sure, who'll see you ? We'll go in the covered car, and 
draw the curtains close, and who'll be the wiser ?" 

"If I thought no one would see me !" said the widow. 

"Ah, who'll see you ?" exclaimed Biddy. " Come along 1 — 
the drive will do you good." 

The widow agreed ; but when Biddy asked for a horse to 
put to the car, her brother refused, for the only horse not at 
work he was going to yoke in a cart that moment, to send a 
lamb to the town. Biddy vowed she would have a horse, and 
her brother swore the lamb should be served first, till Biddy 
made a compromise, and agreed to take the lamb under the 
seat of the car, and so please all parties. 

Matters being thus accommodated, off the ladies set, the 
Iamb tied neck and heels and crammed under the seat, and the 


curtains of the car ready to be drawn at a moment's notice, ii 
case they should meet any one on the road ; for " why shoulo 
not the poor widow enjoy the fresh air as they drove along ?'• 
About half way to the town, however, the widow suddenly 
exclaimed — 

" Biddy, draw the curtains !'' 

" What's the matter ?" says Biddy. 

" I see him coming after us round a turn o' the road !" and 
the widow looked so horrified, and plucked at the curtains so 
furiously, that Biddy, who was superstitious, thought nothing 
but Flanagan's ghost could have produced such an effect ; and 
began to scream and utter holy ejaculations, until the sight ot 
Tom Durf'y riding after them showed her the cause of her 
sister's alarm. 

" If that divil, Tom Durfy, sees me, he'll tell it all over the 
country, he's such a quiz ; shove yourself well before the door 
there, Biddy, that he can't peep into the car. Oh, why did I 
come out this day ! — I wish your tongue was cut out, Biddy, 
that asked me !" 

In the meantime Tom Durfy closed on them fast, and began 
telegraphing Biddy, who, according to the widow's desire, had 
shoved herself well before the door. 

" Pull up, Tim, pull up !" said the widow, from the inside 
of the car, to the driver, whom she thumped on the back at the 
same time, to impress upon him her meaning ; " turn about, 
and pretend to drive back. We'll let that fellow ride on," said 
she, quietly, to Biddy. 

Just as this manoeuvre was executed, up came Tom Durfy 

" How are you, Miss Riley ?" said he, as he drew rein. 

"Pretty well, thank you," said Biddy, putting her head 
and shoulders through the window, while the widow shrunk 
back into the corner of the car. 

" How very sudden poor Mr. Flanagan's death was ! — I 
was quite surprised." 

"Yes, indeed," says Biddy. "I was just taking a little 
drive; goodbye." 

" I was very much shc^a.»- T ' to hear of it," said Tom. 

" 'Twas dreadful !'' snW K«aa, 

" How is poor Mrs. Flaaaji*& ?* s»H Tom. 

" As well as can be expected, pool* ^hing ! Good bye I" 
said Biddy, manifestly anxious to cut short J'he conference. 

This anxiety was so obvious to Tom, *vii&, for the sake oi 
fun, loved cross-purposes dearly, that he determined to push 
his conversation further, just because he saw it was unwelcome. 

"To be sure," continued he, "at his time of life" — 



" Very true," said Biddy. " Good morning. 

" And the season has been very unhealthy." 

"Doctor Growling told me so yesterday," said Biddy; "I 
wonder you're not afraid of stopping in this east wind — colds 
are very prevalent. Good bye !" 

Just now the Genius of Farce, who presides so particularly 
over all Irish affairs, put it into the lamb's head to bleat. The 
Bound at first did not strike Tom Durfy as singular, they 
beino 1 near a high hedge, within which it was likely enough a 
lamb might bleat ; but Biddy, shocked at the thought of being 
discovered in the fact of making her jaunting-car a market- 
cart, reddened up to the eyes, while the widow squeezed herself 
closer into the corner. 

Tom, seeing the increasing embarrassment of Biddy, and her 
desire to be off, still would talk to her, for the love of mischief. 

"I beg your pardon," he continued, "just one moment 
more — I wanted to ask, was it not apoplexy, for I heard an 
odd report about the death." 

" Oh, yes," says Biddy ; " apoplexy — good bye !" 

" Did he speak at all ?" asked Tom. 

"Baa /" says the lamb. 

Tom cocked his ears, Biddy grew redder, and the widow 
crammed her handkerchief into her mouth to endeavour to 
smother her laughter, 

"I nope poor Mrs. Flanagan bears it well ?" says Tom. 

" Poor thing !" says Biddy, " she's inconsolable." 

" Baa-aF says the lamb. 

Biddy spoke louder and faster, the widow kicked with 
laughing, and Tom then suspected whence the sound proceeded. 

" She does nothing but cry all day !" says Biddy. 

" ^iaa-a-a!" says the lamb. 

The widow could stand it no longer, and a peal of laughter 
followed the lamb's bleat. 

" What is all this ?" said Tom, laying hold of the curtains 
with relentless hand, and, spite of Biddy's screams, rudely un- 
veiling the sanctuary of sorrowing widowhood. Oh ! what a 
sight for the rising — I beg their pardon, the sinking — genera- 
tion of old gentlemen who take young wives, did Tom behold? 
There was the widow lying back in the corner — she who was 
represented as inconsolable and crying all day — shaking with 
laughter, the tears, not of sorrow, but irrepressible mirth rolling 
down a chee rosy enough for a bride. 

Biddy, of course, joined the shout. Tom roared in an agony 
of delight. The very driver's risibility rebelled against tha 
habits of respect, and strengthened the chorus : while the lamb 


as if conscious of the authorship of the joke, put in a longer and 
louder " Baa — a-a-a ! I .'" 

Tom, with all his devilment, had good taste enough to feel it 
was not a scene to linger on ; so merely giving a merry nod to 
each of the ladies, he turned about his horse as fast as he could, 
and rode away in roars of laughter. 

When in due course of time, the widow again appeared in 
company, she and Tom Durfy could never meet without smiling 
at each other. What a pleasant influence lies in mutual smiles ! 
we love the lips which welcome us without words. Such sym- 
pathetic influence it was that led the widow and Tom to get 
better and better acquainted, and like each other more and 
more, until she thought him the pleasantest fellow in the county, 
and he thought her the handsomest woman : — besides, she had a 
good fortune. 

The widow, conscious of her charms and her money, didnot 
let Tom, however, lead the quietest life in the world. She 
liked, with the usual propensity of her sex, occasionally to vex 
the man she loved, and assert her sway over so good-looking a 
fellow. He, in his turn, played off the widow very well ; and 
one unfailing source of mirthful reconciliation on Tom's part, 
whenever the widow was angry, and that he wanted to bring 
her back to good humour, was to steal behind her chair, and 
coaxingly putting his head over her fair shoulder, to pat her 
gently on her peachy cheek, and cry " Baa •' " 


A.vdy was in s&d disgrace for some days with his mother ; 
but, like all mothers, she soon forgave the blunders of her 
son — and indeed mothers are well off who have not more than 
blunders to forgive. Andy did all in his power to make himself 
useful at home, now that he was out of place and dependent on 
his mother, and got a day's work here and there where he 
could. Fortunately the season afforded him more employment 
than winter months would have done. But the farmers soon 
had all their crops made up, and when Andy could find no 



work to be paid for, he began to cut the " scrap o meadow," as 
he called it, on a small field of his mother's. Indeed, it was 
but a " scrap ;" for the place where it grew was one of those 
broken bits of ground so common in the vicinity of moun- 
tain ranges, where rocks, protruding through the soil, give the 
notion of a very fine crop of stones. Now, this locality gave to 
Andy the opportunity of exercising a bit of his characteristic 
ingenuity; for when the hay was ready for "cocking," he 
selected a good thumping rock as the foundation for his 
haystack, and the superstructure consequently cut a more 
respectable figure than one could have anticipated from the 
appearance of the little crop as it lay on the ground ; and as no 
vestige of the rock was visible, the widow, when she came out 
to see the work completed, wondered and rejoiced at the size of 
the haystack, and said, " God bless you, Andy, but you're the 
natest hand for putting up a bit o' hay I ever seen ; throth, I 
did'nt think there was the half of it in it ! " Little did the 
widow know that the cock of hay was as great a cheat as 
a bottle of champagne — more than half bottom. It was all 
very well for the widow to admire her hay; but at last she 
came to sell it, and such sales are generally effected in Ireland 
by the purchaser buying " in the lump," as it is called, that is, 
calculating the value of the hay from the appearance of the 
stack as it stands, and drawing it away upon his own cars. 
Now, as luck would have it, it was Andy's early acquaintance, 
Owny na Coppal, bought the hay ; and in consideration of the 
lone woman, gave her as good a price as he could afford — for 
Owny was an honest, open-hearted fellow, though he was a 
horsedealer ; so he paid the widow the price of her hay on the 
spot, and said he would draw it away at his convenience. 

In a few days Owny's cars and men were sent for this 
purpose; but when they came to take the haystack to 
pieces, the solidity of its centre rather astonished them — and 
instead of the cars going back loaded, two had their journey for 
nothing, and went home empty. Previously to his men leaving 
the widow's field, they spoke to her on the subject, and said, 
" 'Pon my conscience, ma'am, the centre o' your haystack was 
mighty heavy." 

" Oh, indeed, it's powerful hay !" 6aid she. 

•' May be so," said they : " but there's not much nourish- 
ment in that part of it." 

" Not finei hay in Ireland!" said she. 

"What's of it, ma'am," said they. "Faix, we think Mr. 
Doyle will be talkin' to you about it." And they were quite 
right ; for Owny became indignant at being overreached, as he 


thought, and lost no time in going to the widow to tell her so. 
When he arrived at her cabin, Andy happened to be in the 
house ; and when the widow raised her voice through the 
storm of Owny's rage, in protestations that she knew nothing 
nbout it, but that " Andy, the darlin', put the cock up with his 
own hands," then did Owny's passion gather strength. 

"Oh! it's you, you vagabone, is it?" said he, shaking his 
whip at Andy, with whom he never had had the honour of 
conversation since the memorable day when his horse was nearly 
killed. " So this is more o' your purty work ! Bad cess to you ! 
wasn't it enough for you to nigh-hand kill one o' my horses, 
without plottin' to chate the rest o' them V 

" Is it mc chate them ?" said Andy. " Throth, I wouldn\ 
wrong a dumb baste for the world." 

"Not he, indeed, Misther Doyle?" said the widow. 

"Arrah, woman, don't be talkin' your balderdash tome," 
said Doyle ; " sure you took my good money for your hay?'' 

" And sure I gave all I had to you — what more could 1 do V 

" Tare an ounty, woman ! who ever heerd of sich a thing as 
coverin' up a rock wid hay, and sellin' it as the rale thing?'' 

" 'Twas Andy done it, Mr. Doyle ; hand, act, or part, 1 
hadn't in it." 

" Why, then, arn't you ashamed o' yourself?" said Owny 
Doyle, ad'dressing Andy. 

" Why would I be ashamed ?" said Andy. 

" For chatin' — that's the word, since you provoke me." 

" What I done is n>. ehatin'," said Andy. " I had i blessed 
example for it." 

" Oh ! do you hear this !" shouted Owny, nearly provoked 
to take the worth of his money out of Andy's ribs. 

" Yes, I say a blessed example," said Andy. " Sure, didn't 
the blessed Saint Peter build his church upon a rock, and why 
shouldn't I build my cock o' hay on a rock?" 

Owny, with all his rage, could not help laughing at the 
ridiculous conceit. " By this and that, Andy," said he, " you're 
always sayin' or doin' the quarest things in the counthry, bad 
lvss to you !" So he laid his whip upon his little hack instead 
of Andy, and galloped off. 

Andy went over the next day to the neighbouring town, 
>* here Owny Doyle kept a little inn and a couple of post-chaises 
(such as they were), and expressed much sorrow that Owny had 
been deceived by the appearance of the hay ; but I'll pay you 
the differ out o' my wages, Misther Doyle — in throth I will — 
that i.-, whenever I have any wages to get: for the Squire 
turned me off, you see, and I'm out of place at this present." 


" Oh, never mind it," said Ovvny. " Sure, it was the widow 
woman got the money, and I don't begrudge it ; jwid now that 
it's all past and gone,"l forgive you. But tell me, Andy, what 
put such a quare thing into your head V 

" Why, you see," said Andy, " I didn't like the poor mother's 
pride should be let down in the eyes o' the neighbours ; and so 
I made the weeshy bit o' hay look as dacent as I could — but, 
ut the same time, I wouldn't chate any one for the world, 
Misther Doyle.'' 

"Throth, I b'lieve you wouldn't, Andy; but, 'pon my 
sowl, the next time I go buy hay, I'll take care that Sain* 
Pether hasn't any hand in it." 

Owny turned on his heel, and was walking away with that air 
of satisfaction which men so commonly assume after fancying 
they have said a good thing, when Andy interrupted his retreat 
by an interjectional " Misther Doyle?" 

"Well," said Owny, looking over his shoulder. 

" I was thinkin', sir," said Andy. 

" For the first time in your life, I b'lieve," said Owny : " and 
what was it you wor thinkin' ?" 

" I was thinkin' o' dhrivin' a chay, sir." 

" And what's that to me 1" said Owny. 

" Sure I might dhrive one o' your chaises." 

" And kill more o' my horses, Andy — eh ? No, no, faix , 
I'm afeer'd o' you, Andy." 

" Not a boy in Ireland knows dhrivin' betther nor me, any- 
way," said Andy. 

" Faix, it's any way and every way but the way you ought 
you'd dhrive, sure enough, I b'lieve : but, at all events, I don't 
want a post-boy, Andy — I have Micky Doolin, and his brother 
Pether, and them's enough for me." 

" May be you'd be wantin' a helper in the stable, Misthe. 

"No, Andy; but the first time I want to make hay to 
advantage, I'll send for you," said Owny, laughing, as he 
entered his house, and nodding at Andy, who returned a capa- 
cious grin to Owny's shrewd smile, like the exaggerated reflec- 
tion of a concave mirror. But the grin soon subsided, for men 
seldom prolong the laugh that is raised at their own expense ; 
and the corners of Andy's mouth turned down as his hand turned 
up to the back of his head, which he rubbed, as he sauntered 
down the street from Owny Doyle's. 

It was some miles to Andy's home, and night overtook him 
on the way. As he trudged along in the middle of the road he 
was looking up at a waning moon and some few stars twinkling 


through the gloom, absorbed in many sublime thoughts as to 
their existence, and wondering' what they were made of, when 
his cogitations were cut short by tumbling over something 
which lay in the middle of the highway ; and on scrambling to 
his legs again, and seeking to investigate the cause of his fall, 
he was rather surprised to find a man lying in such a state of 
insensibility that all Andy's efforts could not rouse him. While 
he was standing over him, undecided as to what he should do, 
the sound of approaching wheels, and the rapid steps of gallop- 
ing horses, attracted his attention ; and it became evident that 
unless the chaise and pair which he now saw in advance were 
brought to pull up, the cares of the man in the middle of tha 
road would be very soon over. Andy shouted lustily, but to his 
every " Halloo there!" the crack of the whip repiied, and ac- 
celerated speed instead of a halt was the consequence ; at last, in 
desperation, Andy planted himself in the middle of the road, and 
with outspread arms before the horses, succeeded in arresting 
their progress, while he shouted " Stop ! " at the top of his voice. 

A pistol-shot from the chaise was the consequence of Andy's 
summons, for a certain Mr. Furlong-, a foppish young gentle- 
man, travelling from the castle of Dublin, never dreamed that a 
humane purpose could produce the cry of " Stop," on a horrid 
Irish road ; and as he was reared in the ridiculous belief that 
every man ran a great risk of his life who ventured outside the 
city of Dublin, he travelled with a brace of loaded pistols beside 
him ; and as he had been anticipating murder and robbery eve? 
since nightfall, he did not await the demand for his " money or 
his life " to defend both, but fired away the instant he heard 
the word "Stopl" and fortunate it was for Andy that the 
traveller's hurry impaired his aim. Before he could discharge 
a second pistol, Andy had screened himself under the horses' 
heads, and recognising in the postillion his friend Micky Doolin 
he shouted out, " Micky, jewel, don't let them be shootin' me ! " 

IS'ow Micky's cares were quite enough engaged on his own 
account : for the first pistol-shot made the horses plunge 
violently, and the second time Furlong blazed away set the 
saddle-horse kicking at such a rate, that all Micky's horseman- 
ship was required to preserve his seat ; added to which, the 
dread of being shot came over him, and he crouched low on 
the grey's neck, holding fast by the mane, and shouting for 
mercy as well as Andy, who still kept roaring to Mick, " Not 
to let them be shootin' him," while he held his hat above him, 
in the fashion of a shield, as if that would have proved any pro- 
tection aguinr-t a bullet. " Who are you at all?" said Mick. 

" Andy Booney, sure." 


"And what do you want?" 

" To save the man's life." 

The last words only caught the ear of the frightened Fur« 
long ; and as the phrase "his life " seemed a personal threat to 
himself, he swore a trembling oath at the postillion that he 
would shoot him if he did not dwive on, for he abjured the use 
of that rough letter, E, which the Irish so much rejoice in. 
"Dwive on, you wascal, dwive on!" exclaimed Mr. Furlong. 

" There's no fear o' you, sir," said MicKy, " it's a friend o' 
my own." 

Mr. Furlong was not quite satisfied that he was therefore 
the safer. 

" And what is it at all, Andy?" continued Mick. 

" I tell you there's a man lying dead in the road here, and 
sure you'll kill him, if you dhrive over him." 

" How could I kill him any more than he is kilt," says 
Mick, "if he's dead already?" 

" Well, no matther for that," says Andy." 'Light off your 
horse, will you, and help me to rise him?" 

Mick dismounted, and assisted Andy in lifting the pro- 
strate man from the centre of the road to the slope of turf which 
bordered its side. They judged he was not dead, however, 
from the warmth of the body, but that he should still sleep 
seemed astonishing, considering the quantity of shaking and 
kicking they gave him. 

" I b'lieve it's drunk he is," said Mick. 

"He gave a grunt that time," said Andy; "shake him 
Bgam, and he'll spake." 

To a fresh shaking the drunken man at last gave some 
tokens of returning consciousness, by making several winding 
blows at his benefactors, and uttering some half-intelligent 

" Bad luck to you, do you know where you are f said Mick. 

" Well! " was the drunken ejaculation." 

" By this anfr that, it's my brother Pether?" said Mick. 
"We wondhered what had kept him so late with the return 
shay, and this is the way it is ? " He tumbled off his horses, 
dhrunk: and where's the shav, I wondher? Oh, murdher! 
What will Misther Doyle say?" 

" What's the weason you don't dwive on?" said Mr. Fur. 
long, putting his head out of the chaise. 

" It's one on the road here, your honor, almost killed. 

"Was it wobbers?" asked Mr. Furlong. 

" May be you'd take him into the shay wid you* sir?'' 

" What a wequest! — dwive on, sir!" 


" Sure I can't lave my brother on the road, sir." 

" lour bwother! — and you pwesume to put your bwother 
to wide with me? You'll put me in the debdest wage if you 
don't dvvive on." 

" Faith, then, I won't dhrive on and lave my brother here 
on the road." 

" You rascally wappawee?" exclaimed Furlong. 

"See Andy," said Micky Doolin ; "will you get up and 
dhrive him, while I stay with Pether?" 

" To be sure I will," said Andy; "where is he goin'?" 

"To the Squire's," said Mick; "and when you lave him 
there, make haste back, and I'll dhrive Pether home." 

Andy mounted into Mick's saddle ; and although the 
traveller "pwotested" against it, and threatened "pwoceed- 
ings," and " magistrates," Mick was unmoved in his brotherly 
love. As a last remonstrance, Furlong exclaimed, " And 
pewhaps this fellow can't wide, and don't know the woad." 

" Is it not known the read to the Squire's ? — wow ! wow V 
said Andy. "It's I that'll rattle you there in no time, your 

"Well, wattle away thenl" said the enraged traveller, as 
he threw himself back in the chaise, cursing all the postillions 
in Ireland. 

Now, it was to Squire O'Grady's that Mr, Furlong wanted 
to go; but in the confusion of the moment the name of 
O'Grady never once was mentioned; and with the title of 
"Squire," Andy never associated another idea than that ol 
his late master, Mr. Egan. 

Mr. Furlong, it has been stated, was an official of Dublin 
Castle, and had been despatched on electioneering business to 
the country. He was related to a gentleman of the same name 
who held a lucrative post under government, and was well 
known as an active agent in all affairs requiring what in Ire- 
land was called " Castle influence ;" and this, his relative, was 
now despatched, for the first time, on a similar employment 
By the way, while his name is before one, a little anecdote 
may be appropriately introduced, illustrative of the wild wag 
gery prevailing in the streets of Dublin in those days. 

Those days were the good old days of true virtue ! When a 
bishop, who had daughters to marry, would advance a deserv- 
ing young- curate to a good living, and not content with that 
man'iiestation of his regard, would give him one of Ids own 
children for a wife ! Those were the days, when, the countrj 
being in danger, fathers were willing to sacrifice, not only thei. 
eons, but their daughters, on the altar of natriotism? Do you 


doubt it?-— unbelieving and selfish creatures of these degenerate 
times ! Listen ! A certain father waited upon the Irish Secre- 
tary, one fine morning, and in that peculiar strain whicn 
secretaries of state must be pretty well used to, descanted at 
some length on the devotion he had always shewn to the 
government, and yet they had given him no proof of their con- 
fidence. The Secretary declared they had the highest sense of 
his merits, and that they had given him their entire confidence. 

" But you have given me nothing else, my lord/' was the 

" My dear sir, of late we have not had any proof of sufficient 
weight in our gift to convince you." 

" Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord ; there's a majority of the 
dragoons vacant." 

" Very true, my dear sir ; and if youhad a child to devote 
to the service of your country, no one should have the majority 

"Thank you, my lord," said the worthy man with alow 
bow ; •' then I have a child." 

" Bless me, sir ! I never heard you had a son." 

" No my lord, but I have a daughter." 

" A daughter !" said my Lord Secretary, with a look of 
surprise, hut you forget, sir— this is a regiment — a dragoon 

" Oh, she rides elegant?" said her father 

" But, my dear sir — a woman?" 

" Why shouldn't a woman do her duty, my lord, as well as 
a man, when the country is in danger ? I'm ready to sacrifice 
my daughter," said the heroic man, with an air worthy of 

" My dear sir, this is really impossible ; you know it's im- 

" I know no such thing, my lord. But I'll tell you what I 
know : there's a bill coming on next week — and there are ten 
friends of mine who have not made up their minds yet." 

"My dear sir," said the Lord Secretary, squeezing his hand 
with vehement friendship, " why place us in this dreadful dif- 
ficulty ? It would be impossible even to draw up the com- 
mission; — fancy, l Major Maria,' or ' Major Margery'!" 

"Oh my lord," said my father, quickly, " I have fancied 
all that long ago, and got a cure ready for it. My wife not 
having been blessed with boys, we thought it wise to make the 
girls ready for any chance that might turn up, and so we 
christened the eldest George, the second, Jack, and the Third, 
Tom ; which enables us to call them Georgina, Jacaueline, and 


Thomasine, in company, while the secret of their real names 
rests between ourselves and the parish register. Now, my lord, 
what do you say ? I have George, Jack, and Tom— think of 
your bill!'' The argument was conclusive, and the patriotic 
man got the majority of a cavalry corps, with perpetual leave of 
absence, for his daughter Jack, who would much rather have 
joined the regiment. 

Such were the days in which our Furlong flourished ; and 
in such days it will not bewondered at that a secretary, when 
he had no place to give away — invented one. The old saying 
has it, that " Necessity is the mother of invention ;'' but an 
Irish Secretary can beat necessity hollow. For example — 

A commission was issued, with a handsome salary to the 
commissioner, to make a measurement through all the streets 
of Dublin, ascertaining the exact distances from the Castle, 
from a furlong upwards : and for many a year did the com- 
mission work, inserting handsome stone slabs into walls of most 
ignorant houses, till then unconscious of their precise proximity 
or remoteness from the seat of government. Ever after that, 
if you saw some portly h"ildin<r- blushing in the pride of red 
brick, and perfumed with fresh paint, and saw the tablet re- 
cording the interesting fact tnus — 


Fancy might suggest that the house rejoiced, as it were, in its 
honoured position, and did 

— " loolc so fine, and smell so sweet," 

ause it was under the nose of viceroyalty, while the suburbs 
vealed poor tatterdemalion tenements, dropping their slates 
like tears, and uttering their hollow sighs through empty case- 
ments, merely because they were "one mile two furlongs from 
the Castle."' But the new stone tablet which told you so 
seemed to mock their misery, and looked like a fresh stab into 
their poor old sides; as if the rapier of a king had killed 
a beggar. 

This very original measure of measurement was provocative 
of ridicule, or indignation, as the impatient might happen to be 
infected,-* but while the affair was in full blow, Mr. Furlong, 


who was the commissioner, while walking 1 in Sackville-street 
one day, had a goodly sheet of paper pinned to his back by 

— " sweet Roman hand," 

bearing, in large letters, the inversion of one of his own tablets, 


and as he swaggered along in conscious dignity, he wondered 
at the shouts of laughter ringing behind him, and turned round 
occasionally to see the cause ; but ever as he turned, faces were 
screwed up into seriousness, while the laughter rang again 
in his rear. Furlong was bewildered, and much as he was used 
to the mirthfulness of an Irish populace, he certainly did won- 
der what fiend of fun possessed them that day, until the hall- 
porter of the secretary's office solved the enigma by respectfully 
asking would he not take the placard from his back before he 
presented himself. The Mister Furlong who is engaged in our 
story was the nephew of the man of measurement memory ; 
and his mother, a vulgar woman, sent her son to England to be 
educated, thai; he might " pick up the ax'nt ; 'twas so jinteel, 
the Inglish ax'nt ! " And, accordingly, the youth endeavoured 
all he could to become ww-Irish in everything, and was taught 
to believe that all the virtue and wisdom in Ireland was vested 
in the Castle and hangers-on thereof, and that the mere people 
were worse than savages. 

With such feelings it was that this English Irishman, em- 
ployed to open negotiations between the government and Squire 
O'Grady, visited the wilds of Ireland ; and the circumstances 
attendant on the stopping of the chaise, afforded the peculiar 
genius of Handy Andy an opportunity of making a glorious 
confusion, by driving the political enemy of the sitting member 
into his house, where, by a curious coincidence, a strange gen- 
tleman was expected every day, on a short visit. After Andy 
had driven some time, he turned round and spoke to Mr. Fur- 
long, through the pane of glass with which the front window- 
frame of the chaise was not furnished. 

" Faix, you wor nigh shootin' me, your honor," said Andy. 

" I should not wepwoach myself, if I had," said Mr, Fur- 
long, "when you quied stop on'the woad : wobbers always qui 
stop, and I took you for a wobber " 


" Faix, the robbers here, your honor, never axes you to stop 
at all, but they stop you without axin', or by your lave, or wid 
your lave. Sure, I was only afeerd you'd dhrive over the man 
in the road." 

" "What was that man in the woad doing?" 

" Nothin' at all, faith, for he wasn't able: he was dhrunk 

" The postillion said he was his bwother." 

" Yis, your honor, and he's a postillion himself — only he lost 
liis horses and the shay — he got dhrunk, and fell off." 

"Those wascally postillions often get dwunk, I suppose?" 

" Oh, common enough, sir, particular now about the 'lection 
time ; for the gentlemin is dhrivin' over the country like mad, 
right and left, and gives the boys money to dhrink their health, 
till they are killed a'most with the falls they get." 

" Then postillions often fall on the woads here ?" 

" Throth, the roads is covered with them sometimes, when 
the 'lections comes an." 

" 'What how wid immowality ! I hope you're not dwunk ?" 

"Faix, I wish I was!" said Andy. "It's a great while 
since I had a dhrop ; but it won't be long so, when your honor 
gives me something to dhrink your health." 

" Well, don't talk, but dwive on." 

All Andy's further endeavours to get "his honor" into 
conversation were unavailing ; so he whipped on in silence till 
his arrival at the gate-house of Merryvale demanded his call 
for entrance. 

"What are you shouting there for?" said the traveller; 
cawn't you wing." 

" Oh, they understand the sMlloo as well, sir;" and in con- 
firmation of Andy's assurance, the bars of the entrance gates 
were withdrawn, and the post-chaise rattled up the avenue to 
the housa. 

" Andy alighted, and gave a thundering tantara-ra at the 
door. The servant who opened it was surprised at the sight of 
Andy, and could not repress a shout of wonder. Here Dick 
Dawson came into the hall, and seeing Andy at the door, gave 
a loud halloo, and clapped his hands in delight — for he had not 
seen him since the day of the chase. 

"An' is it there you are again, you unlucky vagabone ? " 
said Dick ; " and what brings you here V 

"I come with a jintleman to the masther, Misther 

"Oh, it's the visitor, I suppose," said Dick, as he himself 
went out with that unceremonious readiness, so characteristic of 


the wild fellow he was, to op-en the door of the chaise for hia 
brother-in-law's guest. 

"You're welcome," said Dick; "come, step in — the servants 

will look to your luggage. James, get in Mr. , I beg your 

pardon, but 'pon my soul, I forgot your name, though Moriarty 
told me." 

" Mr. Furlong," gently uttered the youth. 

" Get in the luggage, James. Come, sir, walk into the 
dinner-room : we haven't finished our wine yet." With these 
words Dick ushered in Furlong to the apartment where Squire 
Egan sat, who rose as they entered. " Mr. Furlong, Ned," 
said Dick. 

"Happy to see yon, Mr. Furlong," said the hearty Squire, 
who shook Furlong's hand in what Furlong considered a 
most savage manner. "You seem fatigued 1" 

" Vewy," was the languid reply of the traveller, as he threw 
himself into a chair. 

" Ring the bell for more claret, Dick," said Squire Egan. 

"I neveh dwink." 

Dick and the Squire both looked at him with amazement, for 
in the friend of Moriarty they expected to find a hearty fellow. 

"A cool bottle would'nt do a child any harm," said the 
Squire. " Eing, Dick. And now, Mr. Furlong, tell us how 
you like the country." 

" Not much, I pwotest." 

"What do you think of the people?" 

" Oh, I don't know : — you'll pawdon me, but — a — in short 
there are so many wags.'' 

" Oh, there are wags enough, I grant ; not funnier d — Is in 
the world." 

" But I mean wags — tatters, I mean. 

" Oh, rags. Oh, yes — why, indeed, they've not much clothes 
to spare." 

"And yet these wetches are fweeholders, I'm told." 

" Ay, and stout voters too." 

" Well, that's all we wequire. By the bye, how goes on 
the canvass,, Squire." 

" Famously." 

" Oh, wait till I explain to you our plan of opewations from 
head-qwaters. You'll see how famously we shall wally at the 
hustings. _ These Iwish have no idea of tactics: we'll intwoduce 
the English mode — take them by supwise. We must unseat 

"Unseat who?" said the squire. 

**That— a— Egan, I think you call him," 


The Squire opened his eyes; but Lick, with the ready 
devilment that was always about him, saw how the land lay in 
an instant, and making- a signal to his brother-in-law, chiined 
in with an immediate assent to Furlong's assertion, and swore 
that Egan would be unseated to a certainty. "Come, hir," 
added Dick, " rill one bumper at least to a toast I propose. 
Here's ' Confusion to Egan, and success to O'Grady.' " 

"Success to O'Gwady," faintly echoed Furlong, as he 
sipped his claret. "These Iwish are so wild — so uncultivated," 
continued he ; " you'll see how I'll supwise them with some of 
my plans." 

" Oh, they're poor ignorant brutes," said Dick, "that know 
nothing : a man of the world like you would buy and sell them." 

" You see they've no finesse : they have a certain degwee of 
weadiness, but no depth — no weal finesse." 

"Kot as much as would physic a snipe," said Dick, who 
swallowed a glass of claret to conceal a smile. 

" AVhat's that you say about snipes and physic?" said Fur- 
long; " what queer things you Iwish do say." 

" Oh, we've plenty o' queer fellows, here," said Dick ; " but 
you are not taking your claret." 

" The twuth is, I am fatigued — vewy — and if you'd allow 
me, Mr. O'Gwady, I should like to go to my woom : we'll ta*lk 
over business to-mowwow." 

" Certainly," said the Squire, who was glad to get rid of 
him, for the scene was becoming too much for his gravity. So 
Dick Dawson lighted Furlong to his room, and after heaping 
civilities upon him, left him to sleep in the camp of his enemies, 
and then returned to the dining-room, to enjoy with the Squire 
the laugh they were so long obliged *to repress, and to drink 
another bottle of claret on the strength of the joke. 

" What shall we do with him, Dick? " said the Squire. 

" Pump him as dry as a lime-kiln," said Dick, " and then 
send him off to O'Grady — all's fair in war." 

"To be sure," said the Squire. "Unseat me, indeed! he 
was near it, sure enough, for I thought I'd have dropped off my 
chair with surprise when he said it." 

" And the conceit and impudence of the fellow," said Dick. 
" The ignorant Iwish — nothing will serve him but abusing his 
own countrymen ! ' The ignorant Irish I ' — oh, is that all you 
learned in Oxford, my boy? — just wait, my buck — if I don't 
astonish your weak mind, it's no matter ! " 

" Faith, he has brought his pigs to a pretty market here," 
said the Squire ; " but how did he come here P how was the 
mistake made?" 


"The way every mistake in the country is made," said 
Dick. " Handy Andy drove him here." 

" More power to you Andy," said the Squire. " Come, 
Dick, we'll drink Andv's health— this is a mistake on the right 
side" " , . 

And Andy's health was drunk, as well as several other 
healths. In short, the Squire and Dick the Devil were in high 
g-i ee — the dining-room rang with laughter to a late hour ; and 
th next morning a great many empty claret bottles were op 
the table — and a few on the floor 


Notwithstanding the deep potations of the Squire and 
Dick Dawson the night before, both were too much excited 
by the arrival of Furlong to permit their being laggards in the 
morning ; they were up and in consultation at an early hour, 
for the purpose of carrying on prosperously the mystification 
so well begun on the Castle agent. 

" Now, first of all, Dick," said the Squire, " is it fair, do 
you think ?" 

" Fair !" said Dick, opening his eyes in astonishment. "Why 
who ever heard of any one questioning anything being fair in 
love, or war, or electioneering ; to be sure, it's fair — and more 
particularly when the conceited coxcomb has been telling us 
how he'll astonish with his plans the poor ignorant Irish, whom 
he holds in such contempt. Now, let me alone, and I'll get all 
his plans out of him, turn him inside out like a glove, pump 
nim as dry as a pond in the summer, squeeze him like a lemon 
— and let him see whether the poor ignorant Iwish, as he softly 
calls us, are not an overmatch for him at the finesse x:pon 
which he seems so much to pride himself." 

"Egad! I believe you're right, Dick," said the Squire, 
whose qualms were quite overcome by the argument last 
advanced ; for if one thing more than another provoked him, 
it was the impertinent self-conceit of presuming and shallow 


strangers, who fancied their hackneyed and cut-and-dry 
knowledge of the commonplaces of the world gave them a 
mental elevation above an intelligent people of primitive habits, 
whose simplicity of life is so often set down to stupidity, whose 
contentment under privation is frequently attributed to lazi- 
ness, and whose poverty is constantly coupled with the epithet 
"ignorant." "A poor ignorant creature," indeed, is a common 
term of reproach, as if poverty and ignorance must be 
inseparable. If a list could be obtained of the rich ignorant 
people, it would be no flattering document to stick on the door 
of the temple of Mammon. 

" Well, Ned," said Dick, "as you agree to do the English- 
man, Murphy will be a grand help to us ; it is the very thing 
he will have his heart in. Murtough will be worth his weight in 
gold to us ; I will ride over to him and bring him back with me to 
spend the day here ; and you, in the mean time, can put every 
one about the house on their guard not to spoil the fun by 
letting the cat out of the bag too soon ; we'll shake her our- 
selves in good time, and maybe we wont have fun in the hunt !" 

" You're right, Dick. Murphy is the very man for our 
money. Do you be off for him, and I will take care that 
all shall be right at home here." 

In ten minutes more Dick was in his saddle, and riding 
hard for Murtough Murphy's. A good horse and a sharp pair 
of spurs, were not long in placing him vis-a-vis with the merry 
attorney, whom he found in his stable-yard up to his eyes in 
business with some ragged country fellows^ the majority oi 
whom were loud in vociferating their praises of certain dogs ; 
while Murtough drew from one of them, from time to time, a 
solemn assurance, given with many significant shakes of the 
head, and uplifting of hands and eyes, "that was the finest 
badger in the world !" Murtough turned his head on hearing 
the rattle of the horse's feet, as Dick the Devil dashed into tho 
stable-yard, and with a view-halloo welcomed him. 

" You're just in time, Dick. By the powers ! we'll have the 
finest day's sport you've seen for some time." 

" I think we shall," said Dick, " if you come with me." 

"No; but you come with me," said Murtough. "The 
grandest badger-fight, sir," 

"Pooh!" returned Dick ; "I've better fun for you." He 
then told him of the accident that conveyed their political 
enemy into their toils ; " and the beauty of it is," said Dick, 
"that he has not the remotest suspicion of the condition he's in, 
and fancies himself able to buy and sell all Ireland — horse- 
dealers and attorneys included." 


"That's elegant!" said Murphy, 

" He's come to enlighten us, Murtough, "said Dick. 

"And may be, we won't return the compliment," said Mur» 
tough, "just let me put on my boots. Hilloa, you Larry I 
saddle the grey. Don't you cut the pup's ears till I coma 
home ! and if Mr, Ferguson sends over for the draft of the lease, 
tell him it won't be ready till to-morrow. Molly ! Molly ! 
where are you, you old divil ? Sew on that button for me — -I 
forgot to tell you yesterday — make haste ! I wont delay you a 
moment, Dick. Stop a minute, though. I say, Lanty Houligan 
— mind, on your peril, you old vagabone, don't let them fight 
that badger without me. Now, Dick, I'll be with you in the 
twinkling of a bedpost, and do the Englishman, and that smart ! 
Bad luck to their conceit! they think we can do nothing regular 
in Ireland." 

On his arrival at Merry vale and hearing how matters stood, 
Murtough Murphy was in a perfect agony of delight in antici- 
pating the mystification of the kidnapped agent. Dick's inten- 
tion had been to take him along with them on their canvass, 
and openly engage him in all their electioneering movements ; 
but to this Murphy objected, as running too great a risk of dis- 
covery. He recommended rather to engage Furlong in amuse- 
ments which would detain him from O'Grady and his party, and 
gain time for their side; and get out of him all the electioneering 
plot of the other party, indirectly; but to have as little real 
electioneering business as possible. " If you do, Dick," said 
Murphy, " take my word, we shall betray ourselves somehow 
or other — he could not be so soft as not to see it ; but let us 
be content to amuse him with all sorts of absurd stories of 
Ireland — and the Irish — tell him magnificent lies — astonish him 
with grand materials for a note-book, and work him up to pub- 
lish — that's the plan, sir!'' 

The three conspirators now joined the family party which 
had just sat down to breakfast; Dick, in his own jolly way, 
hoped Furlong had slept well. 

" Vewy," said Furlong as he sipped his tea with an air of 
peculiar nonchalance which was meant to fascinate Fanny 
Dawson, who, when Furlong addressed to her his first silly 
commonplace, with his peculiar wow-pronunciation of the letter 
R, established a lisp directly, and it was as much as her sister, 
Mrs. Egan, could do to keep her countenance, as Fanny went 
<sn slaughtering the S's as fast as Furlong ruined R's. 

"I'll twouble you for a little mo' queam," said he, holding 
Ibrth his cup and saucer with an affected air. 

•' Peshapth you'd like thum more theugar," lisped Fanny, 


lifting the sugar-tongs with an exquisite curl of her little 

" I'm glad to hear you slept well," said Dick to Furlong. 

1; To be sure ho slept well," said Murphy ; " this is the 
Bleepiest air in the world." 

" The sleepiest air ?" returned Furlong, somewhat sur- 
prised. " That's vewy odd." 

" Xot at all, sir," said Murphy; "well-known fact. When 
£ first came to this part of the country I used to sleep for two 
days together sometimes. Whenever I wanted to rise early, I 
was always obliged to get up the night before." 

This was said by the brazen attorney, from his scat at a 
side-table, which was amply provided with a large dish of 
boiled potatoes, capacious jugs of milk, a quantity of cold meat 
and game. Murphy had his mouth half filled with potatoes as 
he spoke, and swallowed a large draught of milk as the stranger 
3wallowed Murphy's lie. 

" You don't eat potatoes, I perceive, sir," said Murphy. 

"Xotfor bweakfast,'' said Furlong. 

" Do you for thupper ?" lisped Fanny. 

" Never in England," he replied. 

" Finest things in the world, sir, for the intellect," said 
Murphy. " I attribute the natural intelligence of the Irish 
entirely to their eating them.'' 

" Oh, they are thometimes tho thleepy at the Cathtle," said 

" Weally !" said the exquisite, with the utmost simplicity. 

" Fanny is very provoking, Mr. Furlong,'' said Mrs. Egan, 
who was obliged to say something with a smile, to avoid 
the laugh which continued silence would have forced upon 

"Oh, no!" said the dandy, looking tenderly at Fanny; 
" only vewy agweable — fond of a little wepa'tee." 

" They call me thatirical here," said Fanny, " only fanthy ;" 
and she cast down her eyes with ail exquisite affectation of 

" By the bye, when does your post awive here — the mail I 
mean," said Furlong. 

" About nine in the morning," said the Squire. 

" And when does it go out ?" 

' About one in the afternoon." 

" And how far is the post-town fwom your house ?" 

" About eight or nine miles." 

" Then you can answer your letters by wetu'n of post ?' 

"Oh dear, no!" said the Squire; "the boy takes any 


letters that may be for the post the following morning, as h9 
goes to the town to look for letters.'' 

" But you lose a post by that," said Furlong. 

" And what matter ?" said the Squire. 

The official's notions of regularity were somewhat startled 
by the Squire's answer ; so he pushed him with a few more 
questions. In reply to one of the last, the Squire represented 
that the post-boy was saved going twice a day by the present 

" Ay, but you lose a post, my dear sir," said Furlong, who 
still clung with pertinacity to the fitness of saving a post. 
" Don't you see that you might weceive your letter at half-past 
ten ; well, then you'll have a full hour to wite you' answer ; 
that's quite enough time, I should think, for you' wetu'ning an 

"But, my dear sir," said Murtough Murphy, "our grand 
object in Ireland is not to answer letters." 

" Oh ! — ah ! — hum ! — indeed ! — well, that's odd ; how vewy 
odd you Iwish are ! " 

" Sure, that's what makes us such pleasant fellows," said 
Murtough. " If we were like the rest of the world, there 
would be nothing remarkable about us ; and who'd care for 

" Well, Mr. Muffy, you say such queer things — weally." 

" Ay, and I do queer things sometimes — don't I, Squire ?" 

" There's no denying it Murphy." 

" Now, Mr. O'Gwady," said Furlong, " had we not better 
talk over our election business ?" 

" Oh, hang business to-day!" said Murphy: "let's have 
some fishing : I'll show you such salmon fishing as you never 
saw in your life." 

" What do you say, Mr. O'Gwady ?" said Furlong. 

" 'Faith, I think we might as well amuse ourselves." 
_ " But the election is weally of such consequence; I should 
think it would be a wema'kably close contest, and we have no 
time to lose ; I should think — with submission" 

" My dear sir," said Murphy, " we'll beat them hollow : 
our canvass has been most prosperous ; there's only one thing 
I'm afraid af." 

"What's that ?" said Furlong. 



"That Egan has money; and I'm afraid he'll bribe 

" As for bwibewy, neve' mind that," said Furlong, with a 
very wise nod of his head and a sagacious wink. " We'll spend 
money too. We're pwepawod for that ' plenty of money will 


be advanced, for the gov'nment is wcally anxious that Mr. 
Scatte'bwain should come in." 

"Oh, then, all's right!" said Murphy. "But — whisper — 
Mr. Furlong — be cautious how you mention money, for there 
are sharp fellows about here, and there's no knowing how the 
wind of the word might put the other party on their guard, 
and, may be, help to unseat our man upon a petition." 

"Oh, let me alone," said Furlong. "I know a twick too 
many for that : let them catch me betwaying a secwet ! No, 
no — leather too sharp for that !" 

" Oh ! don't suppose, my dear sir," said Murphy, " that I 
doubt your caution for a moment. I see, sir, in the twinkling 
of an eye, a man's character — always did — always could, since 
I was the height o' that ;" and Murphy stooped down and ex- 
tended his hand about two feet above the floor, while he looked 
up in the face of the man he was humbugging with the most 
unblushing impudence — " since I was the height o' that, sir, I 
had a natural quickness for discerning character ; and I see 
you're a young gentleman of superior acuteness and discretion; 
but at the same time, don't be angry with me for just hinting to 
you, that some of these Irish chaps are d — d rogues. I beg 
your pardon, Mrs. O'Grady, for saying d — n before a lady ;" 
end he made a low bow to Mrs. Egan, who was obliged to leave 
the room to hide her laughter. 

" Now," said Furlong, "suppose befo'e the opening of the 
poll, we should pwopose, as it were, with a view to save time, 
that the bwibery oath should not be administe'd on either 

" That's an elegant idea !" said Murphy. By the wig o' the 
chief justice — and that's a big oath — you're a janius, Misther 
Furlong, and I admire you. Sir, you're worth your weight 
in gold to us !" 

" Oh, you flatte' me ! — weally," said Furlong, with affected 
modesty, while he ran his fingers through his Macassar-oiled 

" Well, now for a start to the river, and won't we have 
sport ! You English-taught gentlemen have only one fault 
on the face of the earth — you're too fond of business — you 
make yourselves slaves to propriety — there's no fun in you." 

"I beg pawdon— there," said Furlong, "we like fun in 
good time.'' 

" Ay ; but there s where we beat you," said Murphy, trium- 
phantly ; "the genuine home-bred Paddy makes time for fun 
sooner than anything else — we take our own way, and live 
the Ion ^er." 


" Ah ! you lose your time — though — excuse me ; you lose 
your time, indeed." 

" Well, ' divil may care,' as Punch said when he lost mass, 

* there's more churches nor one,' says he, and that's the way 
with us," said Murphy. " Come, Dick, get the fishing line3 
ready ; heigh for the salmon fishery ! You must know, Misther 
Furlong, we fish for salmon with line here." 

" I don't see how you could fish any other way," said the 
dandy, smiling at Murphy, as if he had caught him In saying 
something adsurd. 

" Ah, you rogue," said Murphy, affecting to be hit ; "you're 
too sharp for us poor Irish fellows ; but you know the old saying, 

* An Irishman has leave to speak twice ;' but after all, it's no 
great mistake I've made : for when I say we fish for salmon 
with a line, I mean we don't use a rod, but a leaded line, the 
same as in sea-fishing." 

" How vewy extwao'dinary ! why, I should think that 

" And why should it be impossible ?" said Murphy, with 
the most unabashed impudence. "Have not all nations habits 
and customs peculiar to themselves ? Don't the English catch 
their fish by striking them under water with a long rough 
stick, and a little curwhibble of a bone at the end of it ?" 

" Speawing them, you mean," said Furlong. 

" Ay, you know the right name, of course ; but isn't that 
quite as odd, or more so, than our way here ?'' 

" That's vewy twue indeed; but your sea-line fishing in a 
wiver, and for salmon, strikes me as vewy singular." 

" Well, sir, the older we grow the more we learn. You'll 
see what fine sport it is ; but don't lose any more time : let us 
be off to the river at once." 

" I'll make a slight change in my dwess, if you please — I'll 
be down immediately :" and Furlong left the room. 

During his absence, the Squire, Dick, and Murphy, enjoyed 
a hearty laugh, and ran over the future proceedings of the 

" But what do you mean by this salmon-fishing Murphy ?" 
said Dick ; " you know there never was a salmon in the river." 

"But there will be to-day," said Murphy; " and a mag- 
nificent gudgeon will see him caught. "What a spoon that 
fellow is! — we've got the bribery out of him already." 

" You did that well, Murphy," said the Squire. 

" Be at him again when he comes down," said Dick. 

" No, no," said Murphy, " let him alone, he is so conceited 
about his talent for business, that he will be talking of it with- 


out our pusmng him: just give him rope enough, and he'd 
hang himself; we'll have the whole of their campaign out before 
tha day is over." 


All men love to gain their ends ; most men are contented 
with the shortest road to them, while others like by-paths. 
Some carry an innate love of triumph to a pitch of epicurism, 
and are not content unless the triumph be achieved in a certain 
way, making' collateral passions accessories before or after the 
fact ; and Murphy was one of the number. To him, a triumph 
without fun was beef without mustard, lamb without salad, 
turbot without lobster sauce. Now, to entangle Furlong in 
their meshes was not sufficient for him; to detain him from his 
friends, every moment betraying something of their electioneer- 
ing movements, though sufficiently ludicrous in itself, was not 
enough for Murtough ! — he would make his captive a source of 
ridicule as well as profit, and while plenty of renl amusements 
might have served his end, to divert the stranger for the day, 
this mock fishing party was planned to brighten with fresh 
beams the halo of the ridiculous which already encircled the 
magnanimous Furlong. 

"I'm still in the dark," said Dick, " about the salmon. As 
I said before, their never was a salmon in the river." 

" But, as I said before," replied Murphy, " there will be 
to-day ; and you must help me in playing off the trick." 

" But what is this trick ? Confound you, you're as myste- 
rious as a chancery suit." 

"I wish I was likely to last half as long," said Murphy. 

"The trick!'' said' Dick. "Bad luck to you, tell me the 
trick, and don't keep me waiting - , like a poor relation." 

" You have two boats on the river i " said Murphy 

" Yes." 

" Well, you must get into one with our victim : and I c 
£ et into the other with the salmon." 

" But wbere's the salmon, Murphy ? " 


" In the house, for I sent one over this morning', a present 
to Mrs. Egan. You must keep away about thirty yards or so, 
when we get afloat, that our dear friend may not perceive the 
trick — and in proper time I will hook my dead salmon on one 
of my lines, drop him over the off-side of the boat, pass him 
round to the gunwale within view of our intelligent castle 
customer, make a great outcry, swear I have a noble bite, haul 
up my fish with an enormous splash, and affecting to kill him 
in the boat, hold up my salmon in triumph." 

" It's a capital notion, Murphy, if he doesn't smoke the 

" He'll smoke the salmon sooner. Never mind, if I don't 
hoax him : I'll bet you what you like he's done." 

" I hear him coming down stairs," said the Squire. 

" Then send off the salmon in a basket by one of the boys, 
Dick," said Murphy; "and you, Squire, may go about your 
canvass, and leave us in care of the enemy." 

All was done as Murphy proposed, and in something less 
than an hour, Furlong and Dick in one boat, and Murphy and 
his attendant gossoon in another, were afloat on the river, to 
initiate the Dublin citizen into the mysteries of this new mode 
of salmon fishing. 

The sport at first was slack, and no wonder ; and Furlong 
began to grow tired, when Murphy hooked on his salmon, and 
gently brought it round under the water within range of his 
victim's observation. 

" This is wather dull work," said Furlong. 

"Wait awhile, my dear sir ; they are never lively in biting 
so early as this — they're not set about feeding in earnest yet. 
Hilloa ! by the Hokey I have him ! " shouted Murphy. Fur- 
long looked on with great anxiety, as Murphy made a well- 
feigned struggle with a heavy fish. 

"By this and that he's a whopper!" cried Murphy in 
ecstacy. He's kicking like a two-year-old. I have him, though, 
as fast as the rock o' Dunamase. Come up, you thief!" cried 
he, with an exulting shout, as he pulled up the salmon with all 
the splash he could produce ; and suddenly whipping the fish 
over the side into the boat, he began flapping it about as if it 
were plunging in the death struggle. As soon as he had affected 
to kill it, he held it up in triumph before the castle conjuror, 
who was quite taken, in by the feint, and protested his surprise 

"Oh ! that'a nothing to what we'll do yet. If the day 
should become a little more overcast, we'd have splendid sport, 


" Well, I could not have believed, if I hadn't seen it," said 
Furlong 1 . 

'■ Oh ! you'll see more than that, my boy, before we : ve done 
with them." 

'' But I have'nt got even a bite yet ! " 

" JN'or I either,'' said Dick, " you're not worse off than I am." 

'' But how extwao'dinawy it is that I have not seen a fish 
wise since I have been on the wiver." 

" That's because they see us watching them," said Dick. 
"The d — i such cunning- brutes I ever met with as the fish in 
this river : now, if you were at a distance from the bank, you'd 
see them jumping as lively as grasshoppers. Whisht ! I think I 
had a nibble." 

" You don't seem to have good sport there," shouted Murphy. 

" Vewy poo indeed," said Furlong, dolefully. 

" Play your line a little," said Murphy ; " keep the bait 
lively — you're not up to the way of fascinating them yet." 

" Why, no ; it's wather noo to me." 

" Faith !" said Murphy to himself, " its new to all of us. 
It's a bran new invention in the fishing- line. Billy," said he to 
the gossoon, who was in the boat with him, " we must catch a 
salmon again to divart that strange gentleman — hook him on, 
my buck." 

" Yes, sir," said Billy, with delighted eagerness, for the boy 
entered into the fun of the thing heart and soul, and as he 
hooked on the salmon for a second haul, he interlarded his 
labours with such ejaculations as, " Oh, Misther Murphy, sir, 
but you're the funny jintleman. Oh, Misther Murphy, sir, how 
soft the stranger is, sir. The salmon's ready for ketchin' now, 
6ir. Will you ketch him yet, sir ?" 

" Coax him round, Billy," said Murphy. 

The young imp executed the manoeuvre with adroitness ; 
and Murphy was preparing for another haul, as Furlong's 
weariness began to manifest itself. 

" Do you intend wemaining here all day? Do you know, 
I think I've no chance of any spo't." 

" Oh, wait till you hook one fish, at all events," said 
Murphy ; -'just have it to say you killed a salmon in the new 
style. The day is promising better. I'm sure we'll have sport 
3 - et. Hilloa! I've another!" and Murphy began hauling in 
the salmon. " Billy, you rascal, get ready ; watch him — that's 
it — mind him now ! '' Billy put out his gaff to seize the prize, 
and, making a grand swoop, affected to miss the fish. " Gaff 
him, you thief, gaff him!" shouted Murphy, "gaff him, or 
L. '11 he off." 


" Oh, he's so lively, sir ! " roared Billy ; " he's a rogue, 
sir— he won't let me put tire gaff undher him, sir—ow, he 
slipp'd away agin." 

" Make haste, Billy, or I can't hold him." 

" Oh, the thief ! " said Billy ; " one would think he was 
cotcht before, he's so up to it. Ha ! — hurroo ! — I have him 
now, sir." Billy made all the splash he could in the water as 
Murphy lifted the fish to the surface and swung him into the 
boat. Again there was the flopping and the riot, and Billy 
screeching, " Kill him, sir ! — kill him, sir ! — or he'll be off out 
o' my hands ! " In proper time the fish teas killed and shewn 
up in triumph, and the imposture completed. 

And now Furlong began to experience that peculiar longing 
for catching a fish, which always possesses men who see fish. 
taken by others ; and the desire to have a salmon of his own 
killing induced him to remain on the river. In the long 
intervals of idleness which occurred between the occasional 
hooking up of the salmon, which Murphy did every now and 
then, Furlong would be talking about business to Dick Dawson, 
so that they had not been very long on the water until Dick 
became enlightened on some more very important points con- 
nected with the election. Murphy now pushed his boat on 
towards the shore. 

" You're not going yet? '' said the anxious fisherman ; — "do 
wait till I catch a fish ! " 

" Certainly," said Murphy ; " I'm only going to put Billy 
ashore, and send home what we've already caught. Mrs. 
O'Grady is passionately fond of salmon." 

Billy was landed, and a large basket, in which the salmon 
had been brought down to the boat, was landed also — empty ; 
and Murphy, lifting the basket as if it contained a considerable 
weight, placed it on Billy's head, and the sly young rascal bent 
beneath it, as if all the fish Murphy had pretended to take were 
really in it ; and he went on his homeward way, with a tottering 
etep, as if the load were too much for him. 

" That boy," said Furlong, " will never be able to cawwy 
all those fish to the house." 

" Oh, they won't be too much for him," said Dick. " Curse 
the fish ! I wish they'd bite. That thief, Murphy, has had all 
the sport; but he's the best fisherman in the county, I'll own 

The two boats all this time had been drifting down the 
river, and on opening a new reach of the stream, a somewhat 
extraordinary scene of fishing presented itself. It was not like 
Murphy's fishing, the result of a fertile invention, but the con 


sequence of the evil destiny which presided over all the pro- 
ceeding's of Handy Andy. The fishing party in the boats be- 
held another fishing party on shore, with this difference in the 
nature of what they sought to catch, that while they in the 
boats were looking for salmon, those on shore were seeking for 
a post-chaise, and as about a third part of a vehicle so-called 
was apparent above the water, Furlong exclaimed with extreme 
surprise — 

" Well if it ain't a post-chaise! " 

"Oh! that's nothing extraordinary," said Dick ; "common 
enough here." 

" How do you mean?" 

" "We've a custom here of running steeple-chases in post- 

" Oh, thank you," said Furlong. " Come that's too good." 

"You don't believe it, I see," said Dick. " But you did not 
believe the salmon fishing till you saw it." 

" Oh, come now! How the deuce could you leap a ditch in 
a post-chaise?" 

" I never said we leaped ditches ; I only said we rode 
steeple-chases. The system is this : You go for a given point, 
taking high-road, by-road, plain, or lane, as the case may be, 
making the best of your way how you can. Now our horses in 
this country are celebrated for being good swimmers, so it's a 
favourite plan to shirk a bridge sometimes by swimming a 

" But no post-chaise will float," said Furlong, regularly 
arguing against Dick's mendacious absurdity. 

" Oh ! we are prepared for that here. The chaises are 
made light, have cork bottoms, and all the solid work is made 
hollow ; the doors are made water tight, and if the stream runs 
strong, the passenger jumps out and swims." 

" But that's not fair," said Furlong; " it alters the weight." 

" Oh ! it's allowed on both sides," said Dick, " so it's all the 
same. It's as good for the goose as the gander." 

" I wather imagine it is much fitter for geese and gandere 
than human beings. I know I should wather be a goose on the 

All this time they were nearing the party on shore, and as 
the post-chaise became more developed, so did the personages 
on the bank of the river: and amongst these Dick Dawson saw 
Handy Andy in the custody of two men, and Squire 0' Grady 
shaking his fist in his face and storming at him. How all this 
party came there, it is necessary to explain. When Handy 
Andy had deposited Furlong at Merryvale, he drove back to 


pick up the fallen postillion and his brother on the road ; but 
before he reached them, he had to pass a public-house — I say 
had to pass — but he didn't. Andy stopped, as every honour- 
able postillion is bound to do, to drink the health of the gentle- 
man who gives him the last half-crown; and he was so intent 
on "doing 1 that same," as they say in Ireland, that Andy's 
driving became very equivocal afterwards. In short he drove 
the post-chaise into the river ; the horses got disentangled by 
kicking the traces (which were very willing to break) into 
pieces ; and Andy, by sticking to the neck of the horse he rode, 
got out of the water. The horses got home without the post- 
chaise, and the other post-chaise and pair got home without a 
postilion, so that Owny Doyle was roused from his bed by the 
neighing of the horses at the gate of the inn. Great was his 
surprise at the event, as, half-clad, and a candle in his hand, he 
saw two pair of horses, one chaise and no driver, at his door. 
The next morning the plot thickened ; Squire O'Grady came to 
know if a gentleman had arrived at the town on his way to 
Keck-or-nothing Hall. The answer was in the affirmative. 
Then " Where was he 1" became a question. Then the report 
arrived of the post-chaise being upset in the river. Then came 
stories of postillions falling off, of postillions being changed, of 
Handy Andy being employed to take the gentleman to the 
place ; and out of these materials the story became current, that 
" an English gentleman was dhrownded in the river in a post- 
chaise." O'Grady set off directly with a party to have the 
river dragged, and near the spot encountering Handy Andy, he 
ordered him to be seized, and accused him of murdering his 

It was in this state of things that the boats approached the 
party on land, and the moment Dick Dawson saw Handy Andy, 
he put out his oars and pulled away as hard as he could. At the 
moment he did so, Andy caught sight of him, and pointing out 
Furlong and Dick to O'Grady, he shouted, "There he is! — there 
he is! — I never murdhered him? There he is! — stop him! 
Misther Dick, stop, for the love of God ? " 

" What's all this about?" said Furlong, in great amazement 

" Oh, he's a process-server," said Dick ; " the people are 
going to drown him maybe." 

"To dwown him ?" said Furlong, in horror. 

" If he has luck," said Dick, " they'll only give him a good 
ducking; but we had better have nothing to do with it. I 
would not like you to be engaged in one of these popular 

" I shouldn't wellish it myself," said Furlong. 


"Pull away, Dick," said Murphy; "let them kill the 
olackguard, if they like." 

".But will they kill him weally?" inquired Furlong 1 , some- 
what horrified. 

'"Faith, it's just as the whim takes them," said Murphy; 
" but as we wish to be popular on the hustings, we must let 
them kill as many as they please." 

Andy still shouted loud enough to be neard. " Misther 
Dick, they're goin' to murdher me." 

"Poo' w'etch?" said Furlong, with a very uneasy shudder. 

" Maybe you'd think it right for us to land, and rescue him," 
said Murphy, affecting to put about the boat. 

" Oh, by no means," said Furlong. " You're bettaw ac- 
quainted with the customs of the countwy than I am." 

" Then we'll row back to dinner as fast as we can," said 
Murphy. " Pull away my hearties !" and, as he bent to his oars, 
lie began bellowing the Canadian Boat-Song, to drown Andy's 
roar, and when he howled — 

" Our voices keep tune," 

there never was a more practical burlesque upon the words ; but 
as he added — 

' Our oars keep time," 

he seemed to liave such a pleasure in pmlling, and looked so 
lively and florid, that Furlong, chilled by his inactivity on the 
water, requested Murtough to let him have an oar, to restore 
circulation by exercise. Murtough complied; but the novice 
had not pulled many strokes, before his awkwardness produced 
that peculiar effect called " catching a crab," and a smart blow 
upon his chest sent him heels-over-head under the thwarts of 
the boat. 

" Wha-wha-a-t's that?" gasped Furlong, as he scrambled 
up again. 

" You only caught a crab," said Murtough. 

"Good Heaven!" said Furlong, "you don't mean to say 
there are crabs as well as salmon in the wiver." 

"Just as many crabs a3 salmon," said Murtough; "pull 
away my hearty." 

" Row brothers, row — the stream runs fast, 
The rapids ar" «iear, and the daylight's past 1" 



The boats doubled round an angle in the river, and Andy 
was left in the hands of Squire O' Grady still threatening venge- 
ance ; but Andy as long as the boats remained in sight, heard 
nothing but his own sweet voice shouting at the top of itspitch, 
''They're going to murdher me! — Misther Dick, Misther Dick, 
come back for the love o'God!" 

" What are you roaring like a bull for ?" said the Squire. 

" Why wouldn't I roa>* ir ? A bull would roar if he had 
as much rayson." 

" A bull has more reason than ever you had, you calf," said 
the Squire. 

" Sure there he is, and can explain it all to you," said Andy, 
pointing after the boats. 

" Who is there ?" asked the Squire, 

"Misther Dick, and the jintleman that Idhruv there." 

" Drove where ?" 

" To the Squire's." 

"What Squire?" 

" Squire Egan's to be sure." 

" Hold your tongue, you rascal ; you're either drunk still, 
or telling lies. The gentleman I mean wouldn't go to Mister 
Egan's, he was coming to me." 

" That's the jintleman I dhruv — that's all I know. He was 
in the shay, and was nigh shootin' me ; and Micky Doolin 
stopped on the road, when his brother was nigh killed, and 
towld me to get up, for he wouldn't go no farther, when the jin- 
tleman objected — " 

"What did the gentleman object to ?" 

" He objected to Pether goin' into the shay." 

" Who is Peter ?" 

"Pether Doolin, to be sure." 

" And what brought Peter Doolin there ?" 

" He fell off the horses—" 

«' Wasn't it Mick Doolin, you said was driving but a moment 

"Ay sir, but that was th'other shay." 

"What other chaise, you vagabond ?" 


Tli'other shay, your honour, that I never see at all, good 
bad—only Pether." 

" What dia'bolicpl confusion you are making of the story, to 
be sure ! — There's no use in talking to you here, I see. Bring 
him after me," said the Squire, to some of his people standing 
by. " I must keep him in custody till something more satisfac- 
tory is made out about the matter." 

"Sure it's not makin' a presner of me you'd be? said 

" You shall be kept in confinement, you scoundrel, till 
something is heard of this strange gentleman. I'm afraid he's 
drowned. 1 ' 

'D — 1 a dhrowned. I dhruv him to Squire Egan's, I'll 
take my book oath. 

" That's downright nonsense, sir^, He would as soon go into 
Squire Egan's house as go to Fiddler's Green."* 

" Faith then, there's worse places than Fiddler's Green," 
said Andy, " as some people may find out one o' these days." 

" I think, boys," said O'Grady, to the surrounding country- 
men, " we must drag the river." 

"Dhrag the river if you plase," said Andy; "but for the 
tendher mercy o' Heaven, don't dhrag me to jail! By all the 
crosses in a yard o' check, I dhruv the jintleman to Squire 
Egan's ! — and there he was in that boat I showed you five 
minutes agone." 

" Bring him after me," said O'Grady. " The fellow is 
drunk still, or forgets all about it ; I must examine him again. 
Take him over to the hall, and lock him up till I go 

"Arrahsure, your honour," said Andy, commencing as 

" If you say another word, you scoundrel," said the Squire, 
shaking his whip at him, "I'll commit you to jail this minute. 
Keep a sharp eye after him Molloy," were the last words ol 
the Squire to a stout-built peasant, who took Andy in charge 
a3 the Squire mounted his horse and rode away. 

Andy was marched off to Neck-or-nothing Hall; and, in 
compliance with the Squire's orders, locked up in the justice- 
room. This was an apartment where the Squire, in his magis- 
terial capacity, dispensed wb«)t he called justice, and what he 
possibly meant to be such ; but poor justice coming out ot 
Squire O'Grady's hands was something like the little woman in 

* Fiddler's Green is supposed to be stunted on this (the cooler) side 
9f the regions below. 

l 2 ^ HAKBY A«DI. 

the song, who, having her petticoats cut short while she wag 
asleep, exclaimed, on her waking — 

" As sure as I'm a little woman, this is none of I :" 

only that Justice, in the present instance, did not doubt her 
identity from her nakedness, but from the peculiar dressing 
Squire O'Grady bestowed upon her — she was so muffled up in 
O'Gradyism that her own mother (who, by the same token was 
Themis) wouldn't know her. Indeed, if I remember, Justice 
is worse off than mortals respecting her parentage; for while 
there are many people who do not know who were their fathers, 
poets are uncertain who was Justice's mother : — some say Aurora, 
some say Themis. Now, if I might indulge atthis moment in a bit 
of reverie, it would not be unreasonable to suppose that it is the 
classic disposition of Ireland, which is known to be a very an- 
cient country, that tends to make the operations of Justice 
assimilate with the uncertainty of her birth; for her dispensa- 
tions there are as distinct as if they were the offspring of two 
different influences. One man's justice, is not another man's 
justice ; which, I suppose, must arise from the difference of 
opinion as to who and what Justice is. Perhaps the rich 
people, who incline to power, may venerate Justice more as the 
child of Jupiter and Themis ; while the unruly ones worship 
her as the daughter of Titan and Aurora ; for undoubtedly the 
offspring of Aurora must be most welcome to " Peep- o' -day 

Well— not to indulge further in reverie — Andy, I say, was 
locked up in the justice-room ; and as I have been making all 
these observations about Justice, a few words will not be thrown 
away about the room which she was supposed to inhabit. Then 
I must say Squire O'Grady did not use her well. The room 
was a cold, comfortless apartment, with a plastered wall and an 
earthen floor, save at one end, where a raised platform of 
boards sustained a desk and one high office-chair. No other 
seat was in the room, nor was there any lateral window, the 
room being lighted from the top, so that Justice could be in no 
way interested with the country outside — she could only con- 
template her native heaven through the sky-light. Behind the 
desk were placed a rude shelf, where some " modern instances," 
and old ones too, were lying covered with dust — and a gun- 
rack, where some carbines with fixed bayonets were paraded 
in show of authority ; so that to an imaginative mind, the aspect 
of the books and the fire-arms gave the notion of Justice on 
the shelf, and Law on the rack. 

HAND* ANDY. ]21 

But Andy thought not of these things ; no had not the 
imagination which sometimes gives a prisoner a passing pleasure 
in catching a whimsical conceit from his situation, and, in the 
midst of his anxiety, anticipating the satisfaction he shall have 
in saying a good thing, even at the expense of his own suffering. 
Andy only knew that he was locked up in the justice-room for 
something he never did. He had only sense enough to feel 
i hat he was wronged, without the spirit to wish himself 
lighted ; and he sauntered up and down the cold, miserable 
room, anxiously waiting the arrival of "his honour, Squire 
O'Grady;" to know what his fate might be, and wondering if 
ihey would hang him for upsetting a post-chaise in which 
gentleman had been riding, rather than brooding future means 
of redress for his false imprisonment. 

There was no window to look out of; he had not the com- 
fort of seeing a passing fellow-creature — for the sight of one's 
kind is a comfort. He could not even behold the green earth 
and the freshness of nature, which, though all unconsciously, 
has still a soothing influence on the uncultivated mind ; he had 
nothing but the walls to look at, and they were blank, save 
here and there that a burnt stick in the hand of one of the 
young O'Gradies emulated the art of a Sandwich islander, and 
sketched faces as grotesque as any Pagan could desire for his 
idol; or figures after the old well-established school-boy 
manner, which in the present day is called Persian painting, 
" warranted to be taught in three lessons." Now, this bespeaks 
degeneracy in the arts ; for in the time we write of, boys and 
girls acquired the art without any lessons at all, and abundant 
proofs of this intuitive talent existed on the aforesaid walls. 
Napoleon and Wellington were fighting a duel, while Nelson 
stood by to see fair play, he having nothing better to do, as 
the battle of Trafalgar, represented in the distance, could, of 
tourse, go on without him. The anachronism of jumbling 
Buonaparte, Wellington, and Nelson together, was a trifle 
amongst the O'Gradies, as they were nearly as great proficients 
in history, ancient and modern, as in the fine arts. Amidst 
these efforts of genius appeared many an old rhyme, scratched 
with rusty nails by rustier policemen, while lounging in the 
justice-room during the proceedings of the great O'Grady, and 
all these were gone over again and again by Andy, till they 
were worn out, all but one — a rough representation of a man 

This possessed a sort of fascination for poor Andy ; for at 
last, relinquishing all others, he stood rivetted before it, and 
muttered to himself, " I wondher c«n they hana; me — sure its 



no murdber I done — but who knows what witnesses they mlgh'. 
get? and these times they sware mighty hard; and Squire 
O'Grady has such a pack o' blackguards about him, sure h 
could get anything swore he liked. Oh, wirra! wirra! 
that'll I do at all ! Faix ! I wouldn't like to be hanged — oh ! 
look at him there — just the last kick in him — and a disgrace 
to my poor mother into the bargain. Augh! — but its a dirty 
death to die — to be hang up like a dog over a gate, or an old 
hat on a peg, just that-a-way ;" and he extended his arm as he 
spoke, suspending his eanieen, while he looked with disgust at 
the effigy. " But sure they emit hang me — though now I 
remember Squire Egan towld me long ago I'd be hanged some 
day or other. I wondher does my mother know I'm tuk 
away — and Oonah too, the craythur, would be sorry for me. 
Maybe, if my mother spoke to Squire Egan his honour would 
say a good word for me : — though that wouldn't do ; for him 
and Squire O'Grady's bitther inimies now, though they wor 
once good friends. Och hone ! sure that's the way o' the 
world ; and a cruel world it is — so it is. Sure 'twould be well 
to be out of it a'most, and in a betther world. I hope there's 
bo po' chaises in Heaven !" 

The soliloquy of poor Andy was interrupted by a low mea- 
sured sound of thumping, which his accustomed ear at once 
distinguished to be the result of churning ; the room in which 
he was confined being one of a range of offices stretching back- 
ward from the principal building and next door to the dairy 
Andy had grown tired by this time of his repeated contempla- 
tion of the rhymes and sketches, his own thoughts thereon, and 
his long confinement ; and now the monotonous sound of the 
churn-dash falling on his ear, acted as a sort of husko* and 
the worried and wearied Andy at last laid down on the platform 
and fell asleep to the bumping lullaby. 

* A soft monotonous chaunfc that nurses sing to chiliiren to indue* 

■ANDY ANDT. 123 


The sportsmen having returned from their fishing excursion 
to dinner, were seated round the hospitable board of Squire 
Eg;m ; Murphy and Dick in high glee, at still successfully 
hoodwinking Furlong 1 and carrying on their mystification with 
infinite frolic. 

The soup had been removed and they were in the act cl 
enjoying 1 the salmon, which had already given so much enjoy- 
ment, when a loud knocking* at the door announced the arrival 
of some fresh guest. 

"Did you ask any one to dinner, my dear?" inquired Mra. 
Egan of her good-humoured lord, who was the very man to 
invite any friend he met in the coarse of the day, and forget it 

">~o my dear," answered the Squire. "Did you Dick?" 
said he. 

Dick replied in the negative and said he had better go and 
??3 who it was ; for looks of alarm had been exchanged between 
him, the Squire, and Murphy, lest any stranger should enter 
without heing apprised of the hoax going forward, and Dawson 
had just reached the dining-room door on his cautionary mis- 
sion, when it was suddenly thrown wide open, and in walked, 
with a rapid step and bustling air, an active little gentleman 
drcs.-'-d in black, who was at Mrs. Egan's side in a moment, 
exclaiming with a very audible voice and much empressement 
of manner — 

"My dear Mrs. Egan, how do you do? I am delighted to 
see you. Took a friend's privilege you see, and have come un- 
bidden to claim the hospitality of your table. The fact is, I was 
making a sick visit to this side of my parish ; and finding-it 
impossible to get home in time to my own dinner, I had no 
scruple in laying yours under contribution." 

Is'ow this was the Protestant clergyman of the parish, whose 
political views were in opposition to those of Mr. Egan; but the 
good hearts of both men prevented -political feeling from inter- 
fering, a9 in Ireland it too otten does, with the social intercourse 
of life. Still, however, even if Dick Dawson had got out of the 
room in time, this was not the man to assist them in covering 
their hoax on Furlong, and the scene became excessively J«di- 


crous the moment the reverend gentleman made his appearance. 
Dick, the Squire, and Murphy, opened their eyes at each other, 
while Mrs. Egan grew as red as scarlet when Furlong stared at 
her in astonishment as the newcomer mentioned her name. 
She stammered out welcome as well as she could, and called for 
a chair for Mr. Bermingham, with all sorts of kind inquiries for 
Mrs. Bermingham and the little Berminghams — for the Ber- 
mingham manufactory in that line was extensive. 

While the reverend gentleman was taking his seat, spread- 
ing his napkin and addressing a word to each round the table, 
Furlong turned to Fanny Dawson, beside whom he was sitting- 
(and who, by the bye, could not resist a fit of laughter on the 
occasion), and said with a bewildered look — 

" Did he not addwess Madame as Mistwess Egan ? " 

" Yeth," said Fanny, with admirable readiness! "but 
whithper." And as Furlong inclined his head towards her, she 
whispered in his ear, " You muthn't mind him — he's mad, poor 
man ! — that is, a little inthane — and thinks every lady is Mrs. 
Egan. An unhappy pathion poor fellow ! — but quite harmleth." 

Furlong uttered a very prolonged " Oh I" at Fanny's answer 
to his inquiry, and looked sharply round the table, for there wa3 
an indefinable something in the conduct of every one at the mo- 
ment of Mr. Bermingham's entrance that attracted his attention 
and the name "Egan," and every body's fidgetiness ( which is the 
only word I can apply), roused his suspicion. Fanny's answer 
only half satisfied him; and looking- at Mrs. Egan, who could 
not conquer her confusion, he remarked " How vewy wed Mis- 
twess O'Gwady gwew?" 

"Oh! thee can't help bluthing, poor soul! when he thays 
Egan ' to her, and thinks her \nsfurth love." 

" How v ercy widiculous, to be sure," said Furlong. 

"Haven't you innothent mad people thumtimes in Eng- 
land?" said Fanny 

"Oh vcwy" said Furlong, "but this appea's to me so we- 
ma'kably stwange an abbewation." 

" Oh," returned Fanny, with quickness, " I thuppose people 
go mad on their ruling pathion, and the ruling pathion of the 
Irish, you know, is love." 

The conversation all this time was going - on in other quar- 
ters, and Furlong heard Mr. Bermingham talking of his having 
preached last Sunday in his new church. 

" Suwely," said he to Fanny, " they would not pe'mit an 
insane cle'gyman to pweach 1 " 

" Oh," said Fanny, almost suffocating with laughter, "he 
only thinkth he's a clergyman." 


" How vewy dwoll you are!" said Funou fi 

" Now you're only quithing me," said Fanny, looking with 
affected innocence in the face of the unfortunate young 1 gentle- 
man she had been quizzing most unmercifully the whole da\. 

" Oh. Miste' 0'Gwady,"said Furlong, " we saw them going 
to dwown a man to-da} r ." 

" Indeed 1" said the Squire, reddening, as he saw Mr. Ber- 
nnngham stare at his being called O'Grady; so, to cover thp 
b!ut, and stop Furlong, he asked him to take wine. 

" Do they often dwown people here?" continued Furlong, 
after he had bowed. 

" >'ot that I know of," said the Squire. 

" But are not the lowe' o'ders wather given to what Lo'd 
Bacon calls — " 

" Who cares about Lord Bacon?" said Murphy. 

" My dear sir, you supwise me ! " said Furlong, in uttei 
amazement. " Lord Bacon's sayings — " 

" 'Fon my conscience," said Murphy, " both himself and his 
sayings are very rusty by this time." 

'• Oh, I see, Miste' Muffy. You neve' will be sewious." 

" HeaA'en forbid !" said Murphy — " at least at dinner, or 
'ifter dinner. Seriousness is only a morning amusement — it 
makes a very poor figure in the evening. ' 

" By the bye," said Mr. Bermingham, " talking of drown- 
ing, I heard a very odd story to-day from O'Grady. You and 
he, I believe," said the clergyman, addressing Egan, " are not 
on as good terms as you were." 

At this speech Furlong did rather open his eyes, the Squire 
hummed and hawed, Murphy coughed, Mrs. Egan looked into 
her plate, and Dick, making a desperate rush to the rescue, 
asked Furlong which he preferred, a single or a double-barrelled 

Mr. Bermingham, perceiving the sensation his question, 
created, thought he had touched upon forbidden ground, and 
therefore did not repeat his question, and Fanny whispered 
Furlong that one of the stranger's mad peculiarities was mis- 
taking one person for another; but all this did not satisfy Fur- 
long, whose misgivings as to the real name of his host were 
"rowing stronger every moment. At last, Mr. Bermingham, 
without alluding to the broken friendship between Egan and 
O'Grady, returned to the " odd story " he had heard that 
morning about drowning. 

" 'Tis a strange affair," said he, "and our side of the country 
s all alive about it. A gentleman who was expected from 
Dublin last night at Neck-or-Nothing Hall, arrived, as it is 


ascertained, at the village, and thence took a post-chaise, since 
which time he has not been heard of; and as a post-chaise was 
discovered this morning' sunk in the river, close by Ballyslough- 
gutthery bridge, it is suspected the gentleman has been 
drowned either by accident or design. The postillion is in 
confinement on suspicion, and O'Grady has written to the 
Castle about it to-day, for t*ie gentleman was a government 

" Why, sir," said Furlong, " that must be me ! " 

" You, sir ! " said Mr. Bermingham, whose turn it was to be 
surprised now. 

" Yes, sir," said Furlong, " I took a post-chaise at the vil- 
lage last night, and I'm an agent of the gove'ment." 

"But you're not drowned, sir— and he was," said 

" To be su'e I'm not dwowned ; but I'm the pe'son." 

"Quite impossible, sir," said Mr. Bermingham. "You 
can't be the person." 

" Why, sir, do you expect to pe'suade me out of my own 
identity ! " 

" Oh," said Murphy, " there will be no occasion to prove 
identity till the body is found, and the coroner's inquest sits ; 
that's the law, sir — at least, in Ireland." 

Furlong's bewildered look at the unblushing impudence of 
Murphy was worth anything. While he was dumb from 
astonishment, Mr. Bermingham, with marked politeness, said, 
"Allow me, sir, for a moment to explain to you. You see, 
it could not be you, for the gentleman was going to Mr. 

" Well, sir," said Furlong, " and here I am." 

The wide stare of the two men as they looked at each other 
was killing ; and while Furlong's face was turned towards Mr. 
Bermingham, Fanny caught the clergyman's eye, tapped her 
forehead with the fore-linger of her right hand, shook her 
head, and turned up her eyes with an expression of pity, to in- 
dicate that Furlong was not quite right in his mind. 

"Oh, I beg pardon, sir," said Mr. Bermingham. "I see 
it's a mistake of mine." 

"There certainly is a vewy gweat mistake somewhere," 
said Furlong", who was now bent on a very direct question. 
"Pway, Miste' O'Gwady," said he, addressing Egan, "that is, 
if you are Miste' O'Gwady, will you tell me, are you Miste' 

"Sir," said the Squire, "you have chosen to call me 
O'Grady ever since you came here, but my name is Egan." 


"What!— the member for the county?" cried Furlong 

" Yes," said the Squire, laughing 1 , " do you want a frank ?" 

" 'Twill save your friends postage," said Dick, " when you 
write to them to say you're safe." 

" Miste' Wegan/'said Furlong, with an attempt at offended 
dignity, " I conside' myself vewy ill used." 

" You're the first 'man I ever heard of being ill used 
YIerryvale House," said Murphy. 

" Sir, it's a gwievous w'ong!" 

"What is all this about?" asked Mr. Bermingham. 

"My dear friend," said the Squire, laughing— though, 
indeed, that was not peculiar to him, for every one round the 
table, save the victim, was doing the same thing (as for Fanny, 
-he shouted) — " My dear friend, this gentleman came to my 
house last night, and I took him for a friend of Moriarty's, 
whom I have been expecting for some days. He thought, it 
appears, tm» was INeck-or-Nothing Hall, and thus a mutual 
mistake has arisen. All I can say is, that you are most wel- 
come, Mr. Furlong, to the hospitality of this house as long as 
you please.'" 

" But, sir, you should not have allowed me to wemain in 
you ; house," said Furlong. 

" That's a doctrine," said the Squire, "in which you will 
find it difficult to make an Irish host coincide." 

"But you must have known, sir, that it was not my 
intention to come to your house." 

" How could I know that, sir?" said the Squire, jocularly. 

"Why, Miste' Wegan — you know — that is — in fact — con- 
found it, sir ! ; ' said Furlong, at last, losing his temper, "you 
know I told you all about our electioneering tactics." 

A loud laugh was all the response Furlong received to 
this outbreak. 

" Well, sir," repeated he, "I pwotest it is extremely unfair." 

" You know, my dear sir," said Dick, " we Irish are such 
poor ignorant creatures, according to your own account, that 
we can make no use of the knowledge with which you have 
so generously supplied us." 

" You know," said the Squire, " we have no real finesse." 

" Sir," said Furlong, growing sulky, " there is a certain 
finesse that is fair, and another that is unfair — and I pwotest 
against — " 

" Pooh ! pooh! " said Murphy. " Never mind trifles. Just 
wait till to-morrow, and I'll show you even better salmon-fish- 
ing than you had to-day '' 


"Sir, no consideration would make me wemam anotht 
wower in this house." 

Murphy, screwing his lips together, puffed out something 
between a whistle and the blowing out of a candle, and ven- 
tured to suggest to Furlong he had better wait even a couple of 
hours, till he had got his allowance of claret. " Remember the 
adage, sir, ' In vino Veritas,' 1 and we'll tell you all our election- 
eering' secrets after we've had enough wine." 

" As soon, Miste' Wegan," said Mr. Furlong, quite chap- 
fallen, "as you can tell me how I can get to the house to which 
I intended to go, I will be weddy to bid you good evening." 

" If you are determined, Mr. Furlong, to remain here no 
longer, I shall not press my hospitality upon you; whenever 
you decide upon going, my carriage shall be at your service." 

" The soone' the bette', sir," said Furlong, retreating still 
further into a cold and sulky manner. 

The Squire made no further attempt to conciliate him ; he 
merely said, "Dick, ring the bell. Pass the claret, Murphy." 

The bell was rung— the claret passed — a servant entered, 
and orders were given by the Squire that the carriage should be 
at the door as soon as possible. In the interim, Dick Dawson, 
the Squire, and Murphy, laughed as if nothing had happened, 
and Mrs. Egan conversed in an under-tone with Mr. Berming- 
ham. Fanny looked mischievous, and Furlong kept his hand 
on the foot of his glass, and shoved it about something in the 
fashion of an uncertain chess-player, who does not know where 
to put the piece on which he has laid his finger. 

The carriage was soon announced, and Mrs. Egan, as Fur- 
long seemed so anxious to go, rose from table ; and as she 
retired, he made her a cold and formal bow. He attempted a 
tender look, and soft word, to Fanny — for Furlong, who 
thought himself a beau gargon. had been playing off his 
attractions upon her all day, but the mischievously merry 
Fanny Dawson, when she caught the sheepish eye, and heard 
the mumbled gallantry of the Castle Adonis, could not resist a 
titter, which obliged her to hide her dimpling cheek and pearly 
teeth in her handkerchief as she passed to the door. The ladies 
being gone, the Squire asked Furlong, would he not have some 
more wine before he went. 

" No, thank you, Miste' Wegan," replied he, " after being 
twicked in the manner that a — " 

"Mr. Furlong," said the Squire, "you have said quite 
enough about that. When you came into my house last night, 
sir, I had no intention of practising any joke upon you. You 
should have had the hospitality of an Irishman's house, with' 


out the consequence that has followed, had you not indulged in 
sneering; at the Irishman's country, which, to your shame be it- 
spoken, is your own. You vaunted your own superior intelli- 
gence and linesse over us, sir ; and told us you came down to 
overthrow poor Pat in the trickery of electioneering movements. 
L'nder these circumstances, sir, I think what we have done is 
quite fair. We have shown you that you are no match for us 
in the finesse upon which you pride yourself so much; and the 
next time you talk of your countrymen, and attempt to under- 
value them, just remember how you haVe been outwitted at 
Merrvvale House. Good evening, Mr. Furiong, I hope we 
part without owing each other any ill-will." The Squire 
offered his hand, but Furlong drew up, and amidst such ex- 
pletives as "weally," and "I must say," he at last made use of 
the word " atwocious." 

'■ What's that you say?" said Dick. "You don't speak very 
plain, and I'd like to be sure of the last word you used." 

" I mean to say that a — " and Furlong, not much liking the 
tone of Dick's question, was humming and hawing a sort of 
explanation of what "he meant to say," when Dick thus inter- 
rupted him — 

" I tell j r ou this, Mr. "Furlong ; all that has been done is my 
doing— I've humbugged you, sir — humbugged. I've sold you 
— dead. I've pumped you, sir — all your electioneering bag of 
tricks, bribery and all, exposed; and now go off to O'Grady, and 
tell him how the poor ignorant Irish have done you; and see, 
Mr. Furlong," in a quiet under-tone, "if there's anything that 
either he or you don't like about the business, you shall have 
any satisfaction you like, and as often as you please." 

"I shall conside' of that, sir,", said Furlong-, as he left the 
house, and entered the carriage, where he threw himself back 
in offended dignity, and soliloquised vows of vengeance. But 
the bumping of the carriage over a rough road disturbed the 
pleasing reveries of revenge, to awaken him to the more proba- 
ble and les9 agreeable consequences likely to occur to himself 
for the blunder he had made ; for, with all the puppy's self- 
sufficiency and conceit, he could not by any process of mental 
delusion conceal from himself the fact that he had been most 
tremendously done, and how his party would take it was a 
serious consideration. O'Grady, another horrid Irish squire — 
how should he face him ? For a moment he thought it better 
to go back to Dublin, and he pulled the check-string — the car- 
riage stopped — down went the front glass. "I say, coachman." 

" I'm not the coachman, sir." 

" Well, whoever you are — " 

" I'm the groom «nl v, sir ; for the coachman was — " 


" Sir, I doii't want to know who you are, or about your 
affairs; I want you to listen to me — cawrit you listen?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" Well, then — dwive to the village." 

" I thought it was to the Hall I was to dhrive, sir." 

" Bo what you're told sir — the village ! " 

" What village, sir?" asked Mat, the groom, who knew well 
enough, but from Furlong's impertinence did not choose to un- 
derstand anything gratuitously. 

" Why the village I came from yeste'day." 

"What village was that, sir?" 

" How stoopid you are ! — the village the mail goes to." 

"Sure the mail goes to all the villages in Ireland, sir." 

" You pwovoking blockhead ! — Good heavens, how stoopid 
you Iwish are ! — the village that leads to Dublin." 

" Faith they all lead to Dublin, sir." 

" Confound you — you must know ! — the posting village, 
you know — that is, not the post town, if you know what a post 
town is." 

" To be sure I do, sir — where they sell blankets, you mane." 

"No — no— no! I want to go to the village where they 
keep post-chaises — now you know." 

" Faix, they have po'ehayses in all the villages here ; there's 
no betther accommodation for man or baste in the world, than 
here, sir." 

Furlong- was mute from downright vexation, till his rage 
g-ot vent in an oath, another denunciation of Irish stupidity, and 
at last a declaration that the driver must know the village. 

" How would I know it, sir, when you don't know it your- 
self ?" asked the groom ; " I suppose it has a name to it, and if 
you tell me that, I'll dhrive you there fast enough." 

" I cannot wemember your howwid names here — it is a Bal, 
or Bally, or some such gibbewish — " 

Mat would not be enlightened. 
"Is there not Bal or Bally something?" 
" Oh, a power o' Bailies, sir ; there's Ballygash, and Bally- 
slash, and Ballysmish, and Ballysmash, and — " so went on Mat, 
inventing a string' of Bailies, till he was stopped by the enraged 

" None o'them ! none o' them ! " exclaimed he, in a fury; 
" 'tis something about ' dirt' or ' mud.' " 

" Maybe 'twould be gutther, sir," said Mat, who saw Fur- 
long was near the mark, and he thought he might as well make 
a virtue of telling him. 

" I believe you're right," said Furlong. 

"Then it is Ballysloughgutthery you want to go to, sir." 


"That's the name!" said Furlong-, snappishly; " dvvive 
tfiere!" and, hastily pulling up the glass, he threw himself 
back again in the carriage. Another troubled vision of what 
the secretary would say came across him, and, after ten minutes' 
Lalancing the question, and trembling- at the thoughts of an 
official blowing ap, he thought he had better even venture on 
i Irish squire ; so the check-string was again pulled, and the 
glass hastily let down. 
- Mat halted. " Yis, sir," sa:d Mat. 

'' I think I've changed my mind — dwive to the Hall !" 

"I wish you towld me, sir, before I took the last turn — 
,re're nigh a mile towards the village now." 

" Is o matte', sir ! " said Furlong- ; " dwive where I tell you." 

Up went the glass again, and Mat turned round the horses 
nnd carriage with some difficulty in a narrow by-road. 

Another vision came across the bewildered fancy of Furlong . 
the certainty of the fury of O'Grady — the immediate contempt 
as well as anger attendant on his being bamboozled — and the 
result at last being the same in drawing down the secretary's 
anger. This produced another change of intention, and he let 
down the glass for the third time— once more changed his orders 
as concisely as possible, and pulled it up again. All this time 
Mat was laughing internally at the bewilderment of the stranger, 
and as he turned round the carriage again he muttered to him- 
self, " By this and that, you're as hard to dhrive as a pig ; for 
you'll neither go. one road nor th' other." He had not pro- 
ceeded far, when Furlong determined to face O'Grady instead 
of the Castle, and the last and final order for another turnabout 
was given. Mat hardly suppressed an oath ; but respect for his 
master stopped him. The glass of the carriage was not pulled 
up this time, and Mat was asked a few questions about the 
Hall, and at last about the Squire. Now Mat had acuteness 
enough to fathom the cause of Furlong's indecision, and deter- 
mined to make him as unhappy as he could ; therefore, to the 
question of " What sort of a man the Squire was?" Mat, re- 
echoing the question, replied — "What sort of a man, sir?— 
Faith, he's not a man at all, sir ; he's the devil." 

Furlong pulled up the glass, and employed the interval 
between Mat's answer and reaching the Hall in making up his 
mind as to how he should " face the devil." 

The carriage after jolting for some time over a rough road 
skirted by a high and ruinous wall, slopped before a gateway 
that had once been handsome, and Furlong was startled by the 
sound of a most thundering bell, which the vigorous pull oi 
Mat stimulated to its utmost pitch ; the baying of dogs which 
followed was terrific. A savage-looking gatekeeper made his 


appearance with a light— not in a lantern, but shaded with his 
tattered hat ; many questions and answers ensued, and at last 
the gate was opened. The carriage proceeded up a very ragged 
avenue, stopped before a large rambling sort of building, which 
even moonlight could exhibit to be very much out of repair, and 
after repeated knocking at the door (for Mat knew his squire 
and the other squire were not friends now, and that he might 
be impudent), the door was unchained and unbarred, and Fur- 
long deposited in Keck or-Nothing Hall. 


" Such is the custom of Branksome Hall." 

Lay of the Last MirMrtl. 

|ttdi-0^afl]hnj fjdl 
flTanto I. 

Ten good nights and ten good days 
It would take to tell thy ways, 
Various, many, and amazing : 
Neck-or-No thing bangs all praising 
Wonders great and wonders small 
Are found in Neck-or-Nothing Hall. 

Racing rascals of ten a twain, 

Who care not a rush for hail nor rain, 

Messages swiftly to go or to come, 

Or duck a taxman or harry a bum,* 

Or "clip a server,"! did blithely lie 

In the stable parlour next to the sky.* 

Dinners, save chance ones, seldom had they, 

Unless they could nibble their beds of hay. 

But the less they got, they were hardier all— 

Twas the custom of Neck-or-Nothing Hall. 

fflne lord there sat in that terrible hall; 

JTtao ladies came at his terrible call, — 

One his mother and one his wife, 

Bach afraid of her separate life ; 

STfjrcc girls who trembled— four boys who shook 

JFibe times a-day at his lowering look , 

£ii blunderbusses in goodly show, 

£•(13511 horse-pistols were ranged below, 

* A facetious phrase for bailiff, so often kicked, 

t Cutting off the ears of a process-server. J Hayloft. 


felflfit domestics, great and small, 

In idlesse did nothing but curse them all • 

flint state beds, where no one slept— 

Tr i for family use were kept; 

Dogs ipicdrn with bums to make free, 

With a bold ffljtrtccii* in the treasury — 

(Such its numerical strength, I guess 

It can't be m^re, but it may be less.) 

Tar-barrels new and feathers old 

Are ready, I trow, for the caitiff bold 

Who dares to invade 

The stormy shade 

Of the giim O'Grade, 
In his hunting hold. 

When the iron tongue of the old gate bell 
Doth summon the growling grooms from cell, 

Through cranny and crook, 

They peer and they look, 
With guns to send the intruders to Heaven, f 
But when passwords pass 
That might " serve a mass," J 
Then bars are drawn and chains let fall, 
And you get into Neck-or-Nothing HalL 

Canto H. 

And never a doubt 

But when you are in, 

If you love a whole skin, 

I'll wager (and win) 
You'll be glad to get out. 

Dr. Growling's Metrical Romanes. 

Tub bird s eye view which the doctor's peep from Par- 
nassus has afforded, may furnish the imagination of the reader 
with materials to create in his own mind a vague yet not un- 
iust notion of Neck-or-Nothing Hall; but certain details of 
the hall itself, its inmates, and its customs, may be desired by 
the matter-of-fact reader or the more minutely curious, and as 
the author has the difficult task before him of trying to please 
all tastes, something more definite is required. 

The Hall itself was, as we have said, a rambling sort of 
structure. Ramifying from a solid centre, which gave the no- 
tion of a founder well to do in the world, additions, without 
any architectural pretensions to fitness, were stuck on here and 

* A shilling, so called from its being worth thirteen pence in thow 

f This is not the word in the MS. 

} Serving mass occupies about twenty-five minutes. 


there, as whim or necessity suggested or demanded, and a 
most incongruous mass of gables, roofs, and chimneys, odd 
windows and blank walls, was the consequence. According to 
the circumstances of the occupants who inherited the pro- 
perty, the building was either increased or neglected. A cer- 
tain old bachelor, for example, who in the course of events 
"inherited the property, had no necessity for nurses, nursery- 
maids, and their consequent suite of apartments ; and as he 
never aspired to the honour of matrimony, the ball-room, the 
drawing-room, and extra bed-chambers were neglected ; but 
being a fox-hunter, a new kennel and range of stables were 
built, the dining-room enlarged, and all the ready money he 
could get at spent in augmenting the plate, to keep pace with 
the racing-cups he won, and proudly displayed at his drinking 
bouts ; and when he died suddenly (broke his neck), the plate 
was seized at the suit of his wine merchant ; and as the heir 
next in succession got the property in a ruinous condition, it 
was impossible to keep a stud of horses along with a wife and 
a large family, so the stables and kennel went to decay, while 
the lady's and family apartments could only be patched up. 
When the house was dilapidated, the grounds about it, of 
course, were ill kept. Fine old trees were there, originally 
intended to afford shade to walks which were so neglected as 
to be no more walkable than any other part of the grounds — 
the vista of aspiring stems indicated where an avenue had been, 
but neither hoe nor rolling-stone had, for many a year, checked 
the growth of grass or weed. So much for the outside of the 
house : now for the inside. 

That had witnessed many a thoughtless, expensive, head- 
long and irascible master, but never one more so than the 
present owner ; added to which, he had the misfortune of be- 
ing unpopular. Other men, thoughtless and headlong, and 
irritable as he, have lived and had friends ; but there was 
something about O'Grady that was felt, perhaps, more than 
it could be defined, which made him unpleasing — perhaps the 
homely phrase " cross-grained " may best express it, and 
O'Grady was essentially a cross-grained man. The estate, 
when he got it, was pretty heavily saddled, and the " galled 
jade" did not "wince" the less for his riding. 

A good jointure to his mother was chargeable on the 
projjerty, and this was an excuse on all occasions for the 
Squire's dilatory payment in other quarters. "Sir," he would 
Bay, " my mother's jointure is sacred — it is more than the 
estate can well bear, it is true — but it is a sacred claim, and I 
would sooner sacrifice my life, my honour, sir, than see that 
claim neglected !" Now all this sounded mighty fine, but his 


motner coulit never see her jointure regularly paid, and was 
obliged to live in the house with him : she was somewhat of an 
oddity, and had apartments to herself, and, as long as she was 
let alone, and allowed to read romances in quiet, did not com- 
plain ; and whenever a stray ten-pound note did fall into her 
hands, she gave the greater part of it to her younger grand- 
daughter, -who was fond of flowers and plants, and supported a 
little conservatory on her grandmother's bounty, she paying 
the tribute of a bouquet to the old lady when the state of her 
botanical prosperity could afford it. The eldest girl was a 
favourite of an uncle, and her passion being dogs, all the pre- 
sents her uncle made her in money were cor verted into canine 
curiosities ; while the youngest girl took an interest in the rear- 
ing of poultry. Now the boys, varying in age from eight to four- 
teen, had their separate favourites too — one loved bull-dogs 
and terriers, another game-cocks, the third ferrets, and the 
fourth rabbits and pigeons. These multifarious tastes pro- 
duced strange results. In the house, flowers and plants, indi- 
cating refinement of taste and costliness, were strongly con- 
trasted with broken plaster, soiled hangings, and faded paint ; 
an expensive dog might be seen lapping cream out of a shabby 
broken plate ; a never-ending sequence of wars raged among 
the dependent favourites ; the bull-dogs and terriers chopping 
up the ferrets, the ferrets killing the game cocks, the game 
cocks killing the tame poultry and rabbits, and the rabbits 
destroying the garden, assisted by the flying reserve of pigeons. 
It was a sort of Irish retaliation, so amusingly exemplified in 
the nursery jingle — 

The water began to quench the fire, 
The fire began to burn the stick, 
The stick began to beat the dog, 
The dog began to bite the kid 

In the midst of all these distinct and clashing tastes, that of 
Mrs. O'Grady (the wife) must not be forgotten; her weak 
point was a feather bed. Good soul ! anxious that whoever 
slept under her roof should lie softly, she would go to the 
farthest corner of the county to secure an accession to her 
favourite property — and such a collection of luxurious feather 
beds never was seen in company with such rickety bedsteads 
and tattered and mildewed curtains, in rooms uncarpeted, 
whose paper was dropping off the wall, — well might it be called 
paper-hanging indeed ! — whose washing-tables were of deal, 
and whose delf was of the plainest ware, and even that minus 
sundry handles and spouts. Nor was the renowned O'Grady 


without liis hobby, too. While the various members of his 
family were thwarting each other, his master mischief was 
thwarting them all ; like some wicked giant looking down on a 
squabble of dwarfs, and ending the fight by kicking them all 
right and left. Then he had his troop of pets too — idle black- 
guards who were slingeing* about the place eternally, keeping 
up a sort of " cordon sanitaire," to prevent the pestilential 
presence of a bailiff, which is so catching, and turns to jail 
fever, a disease which had been fatal in the family. O'Grady 
never ventured beyond his domain except on the back of a 
fleet horse — there he felt secure; indeed the place he most 
dreaded legal assault in was his own house, where he appre- 
hended trickery might invade him : a carriage might be but 
a feint, and hence the great circumspection in the opening 
of doors. 

From the nature of the establishment, thus hastily sketched, 
the reader will see what an ill-regulated jumble it was. The 
master, in difficulties, had disorderly people hanging about his 
place for his personal security ; from these very people his boys 
picked up the love of dog-fights, cock-fights, &c. ; and they, from 
the fights of their pets, fought amongst themselves, and were 
always fighting with their sisters ; so the reader will see the 
"metrical romance" was not overcharged in its rhymes on 
■Neck-or-Nothing Hall. 

When Furlong entered the hall, he gave his name to a queer- 
looking servant with wild scrubby hair, a dirty face, a tawdry 
livery, worse for wear, which had manifestly been made for a 
larger man and hung upon its present possessor like a coat 
upon a clothes-horse ; his cotton stockings, meant to be white, 
and clumsy shoes, meant to be black, met each other half-way, 
and split the difference in a pleasing neutral tint. Leaving 
Furlong standing in the hall, he clattered up stairs, and a 
dialogue ensued between master and man so loud that Furlong 
could hear the half of it, and his own name in a tone of 
doubt, with that of " Egan," in a tone of surprise, and that of 
his "sable majesty" in a tone of anger, rapidly succeeded one 
another ; then such broken words and sentences as these en- 
sued — "fudge ! — humbug.! — rascally trick! — eh ! — by the 
liokey, they'd better take care ! — put the scoundrel under the 
pump !" 

Furlong more than half suspected it was to him this deli- 
cate attention was intended, and began to feel uncomfortable : 
he sharpened his ears to their keenest hearing, but there was a 
fell in the conversation, and he could ascertain one of the 

* An Htbernicisrn, expressive of lounging laziness. 


gentler sex was engaged in it by the ogre-like voice uttering 
" Fudge, woman ! — fiddle-de-dee !" Then he caught the 
words, " perhaps," and " gentleman," in a lady's voice ; then 
out thundered "that rascal's carriage! — why come in that? — 
friend! — humbug! — rascal's carriage! — tar and feather him, 
by this and that !" 

Furlong began to feel very uncomfortable ; the conversa- 
tion ended ; down came the servant, to whom Furlong was 
iibout to address himself, when the man said, " He would be with 
hiin in a minit," and vanished ; a sort of reconnoitering party, 
one by one, then passed through the hall, eyeing the stranger 
very suspiciously, any of them to whom Furlong ventured a 
word scurrying off in double-quick time. For an instant he 
meditated a retreat, and looking to the door, saw a heavy chain 
across it, the pattern of which must have been had from New- 
gate. He attempted to unfasten it, and as it clanked heavily, 
the ogre's voice from up-stairs bellowed, " Who the d — l's that 
opening the door ?" Furlong's hand dropped from the chain, 
and a low growling went on up the staircase. The servant 
whom he first saw returned. 

" I fear," said Furlong, " there is some misappweheiision." 

"A what, sir?" 

" A misappwehension." 

*' Oh, no, sir! it's only a mistake the master thought you 
might be making ; he thinks you mistuk the house, maybe, 

" Oh, no — I wather think he mistakes me. Will you do me 
the favo'," and he produced a packet of papers as he spoke, 
" the favo' to take my cwedentials to Mr. O'Gwady, and if he 
throws his eye over these pape's — " 

At the word "papers," there was a shout from above, 
" Don't touch them, you thief, don't touch them ! — another 
blister, — ha, ha ! By the 'ternal this and t&at, I'll have him in 
the horse-pond!" A heavy stamping overhead ensued, and 
furious ringing of bells ; in the midst of the din, a very pale 
lady came down stairs, and pointing the way to a small room, 
beckoned Furlong to follow her. For a moment he hesitated, 
for his heart misgave him ; but shame at the thought of doubt- 
ing or refusing the summons of a lady overcame his fear, and 
he followed to a little parlour, where mutual explanations 
between Mrs. O'Grady and himself, and many messages, ques- 
tions, and answers, which she carried up and down stairs, at 
length set Furlong's mind at ease respecting his personal 
safety, and finally admitted him into the presence of the tru- 
culent lord of the castle — who, when he heard that Furlong 
Jiad been staying in the enemy's camp, was not, it may be sup- 


posed, in a sweet temper to receive him. O'Grady looked 
thunder as Furlong entered, and eyeing him keenly for some 
seconds, as if he were taking a mental as well as an ocular 
measurement of him, he saluted him with — 

" Well, sir, a pretty kettle of fish you've made of this. I 
hope you have not blabbed much about our affairs P" 

" Why, X weally don't know — I'm not sure — that is, T wo'nt 
be positive, because when one is thwown off Lis guard, you 
know — " 

" Pooh, sir ! a man should never be off his guard in an elec* 
tion. But how the d — J, sir, could you make such a thunder- 
ing mistake as to go to the wrong house ?" 

"It was a howwid postillion, Miste' O'Gwady." 

"The scoundrel!" exclaimed O'Grady, stamping up and 
down the room. 

At this moment, a tremendous crash was heard ; the ladies 
jumped from their seats; O'Grady paused in his rage, and his 
Door, pale wife exclaimed — 

" 'Tis in the conservatory." 

A universal rush was now made to the spot, and there was 
Handy Andy, buried in the ruins of flower-pots and exotics, 
directly under an enormous breach in the glass roof of the 
building. How this occurred, a few words will explain. Andy, 
when he went to sleep in the justice-room, slept soundly for 
some hours, but awoke in the horrors of a dream, in which he 
fancied he was about to be hanged. So impressed was he by 
the vision, that he determined on making his escape if he 
could, and to this end piled the chair upon the desk, and the 
volumes of law books on the chair, and being an active fellow, 
contrived to scramble up high enough to lay his hand on the 
frame of the sky-light, and thus make his way out on the roof. 
Then walking, as well as the darkness would permit him, along 
the coping of the wall, he approached, as it chanced, the con- 
servatory, but the coping being loose, one of the flags turned 
under Andy's foot, and bang he went through the glass roof, 
carrying down in his fall some score of flower-pots, and finally 
stuck in a tub, with his legs upwards, and embowered in the 
branches of crushed geraniums and hydrangeas. 

He was dragged out of the tub, amidst a shower of curseg 
from O'Grady ; but the moment Andy recovered the few senses 
he had, and saw Furlong, regardless of the anathemas of the 
Squire, he shouted out, " There he is ! — there he is !" and 
rushing towards him, exclaimed, " Now, did I dhrowned you, 
sir, — did I ? Sure, I never murdhered you !" 

'Twas is much as could be done to keep 


off Andy, for smashing the conservatory, when Furlong's pre- 
sence made him no longer liabLe to imprisonment. 

" Maybe he has a vote," said Furlong, anxious to display 
how much he was on the qui vive in election matters. 

" Have you a vote, you rascal?" said O'Grady. 

" You may sarche me if you like, your honour," said Andy, 
who thought a vote was some sort of property he was suspected 
of stealing. 

" You are either the biggest rogue, or the biggest fool I 
ever met," said O'Grady. " Which are you now ?" 

"Whichever your honour plazes," said Andy. 

" If I forgive you, will you stand by me at the election?" 

" I'll stand anywhere your honor bids me," said Andy, 
huivl lv. 

" That's a thoroughgoing rogue, I'm inclined to think," 
said O'Grady, aside to Furlong. 

"He looks more like a fool in my appwehension," was the 

" Oh, these fellows conceal the deepest roguery sometimes 
under an assumed simplicity. You don't understand the Irish." 

"Und'stand!" exclaimed Furlong; " I pwonounce the whole 
countwy quite incompwhensible !" 

"Well!" growled O'Grady to Andy, after a moment's con- 
sideration, " go down to the kitchen, you housebreaking vaga- 
bond, and get your supper!" 

" Xow, considering the "fee, faw, fum," qualities of O'Grady 
the reader may be surprised at the easy manner in which Andy 
slipped through his fingers, after having slipped through the 
roof of his conservatory ; but as between two stools folks fall to 
the ground, so between two rages people sometimes tumble into 
safety. O'Grady was in a divided passion — first his wrath 
was excited against Furlong for his blunder, and just as that 
was about to explode, the crash of Andy's sudden appearance 
amidst the flower-pots (like a practical parody on " Love 
among the roses") called off the gathering storm in a new direc- 
tion, and the fury sufficient to annihilate one, was, by disper- 
sion, harmless to two. But on the return of the party from 
the conservatory, after Andy's descent to thekitchen, O'Grady's 
rage against Furlong, though moderated, had settled down into 
a very substantial dissatisfaction, which he evinced by poking 
his nosebetweenhis forefinger and thumb, as if he meditated the 
abstraction of that salient feature from his face, shuffling his feet 
about throwing his right leg over his left knee, and then sud- 
denly, as if that were a mistake, throwing his left over the 
right, thrumming on the arm of his chair with hip clenched 


hand, inhaling the air very audibly through his protruded lips 
as if he were supping hot soup, and all the time fixing his 
eyes on the fire with a portentous gaze, as if lie would have 
evoked from it a salamander. 

Mrs. O'Grady in such a state of affairs, wishing to speak to 
the stranger, yet anxious she should say nothing that could 
bear upon immediate circumstances lest she might rouse her 
awful lord and master, racked her invention 'or what she should 
^■ay; and at last, with "bated breath," and a very worn-out 
smile, faltered forth — 

" Pray, Mr. Furlong, are you fond of shuttlecock ?" 

Furlong stared, and began a reply of " Weally, I cawnt say 

When O'Grady gruffly broke in with, " You'd better ask him, 
does he love teetotum." 

" I thought you could recommend me the best establishment 
in the metropolis, Mr. Furlong, for buying shuttlecocks," con- 
tinued the lady, unmindful of the interruption, 

" You had better ask him where you can get mousetraps," 
growled O'Grady. 

Mrs. O'Grady was silent, and O'Grady, whose rage had not 
assumed its absurd form of tagging changes, continued, in- 
creasing his growl, like a crescendo on the double-bass, as he 
proceeded : " You'd better ask, I think — mouse-traps — steel- 
traps — clap-traps — rat-traps — rattle-traps — rattle-snakes !" 

Furlong stared, Mrs, O'Grady was silent, and the Misses 
O'Grady cast fearful sidelong glances at " Pa," whose 
strange irritation always bespoke his not being in what good 
people call a "sweet state of mind ;" he laid hold of a tea-spoon, 
and began beating a tattoo on the mantel-piece to a low 
smothered whistle of some very obscure tune, which was sud- 
denly stopped to say to Furlong, very abruptly — 

" So Egan diddled you ?" 

" Why, he certainly, as I conceive, pwactised, or I might 
say, in short — he — a — in fact — " 

"Oh, yes," said O'Grady, cutting short Furlong's humming 
and hawing ; " oh, yes, I know — diddledyou." 

Bang went the spoon again, keeping time with another 
string of nonsense. " Diddled you — diddle, diddle, the cat and 
the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon — who was there?" 

" A Mister Dawson." 

"Phew!" ejaculated O'Grady with a doleful whistle ; "Dick 
vhe devil! You are in nice hands ! All up with us — up with 
us — 

Up, up, up, 

Aid here we go down, down, down, down, derry down ! 


Oh, murther !" and the spoon went faster than before. " Any 
one else r" 

"Mister Bermingham." 

" Berniingham!" exclaimed O'Grady. 

"A cle'gyman, I think," drawled Furlong. 

" Bermingham!" reiterated O'Grady. " What business has 

he there, and be !" O'Grady swallowed a curse when he 

remembered he was a clergyman. " The enemy's camp — not 
his principles ! Oh, Berniingham, Bermingham — BroVnmagem, 
Brummagem, Sheffield, Wolverhampton — Murther! Any one 
cl<e ? Was Durfy there ?" 

" No,'' said Furlong ; " but there was an odd pe'son, whose 
nnme wymes to his — as you seem fond of wymes, Mister 

"What!" said O'Grady, quickly, and fixing his eyes on 
Furlong ; " Murphy ?" 

" Yes. Miste' Muffy." 

O Grady gave a more doleful whistle than before, and, banging 
the spoon faster than ever, exclaimed again, "Murphy! — then 
I'll tell you what it is ; do you see that ?" and he held up the 
spoon before Furlong, who, being asked the same question 
several times, confessed he did see the spoon. " Then I'll tell 
you what it is," said O'Grady again, " I wouldn't give you that 
for the election;" and, with a disdainful jerk, he threw the 
spoon into the fire, after which he threw himself back in his 
chair with an appearance of repose, while he glanced fiercely 
up at the ceiling, and indulged in a very low whistle indeed. 
One of the girls stole softly round to the fire and gently took 
up the tongs to recover the spoon ; it made a slight rattle, and 
her father turned smartly round, and said, "Can't you let the 
fire alone ? — there's coal enough on it ; the devil burn em all 
— Egan, Murphy, and all 'o them! What do you stand there 
fur, with the tongs in your hands, like a hairdresser, or a 
stuck pig? I tell you, I'm as hot as a lime kiln; go out o' 

The daughter retired, and the spoon was left to its fate ; 
the ladies did not dare to utter a word ; O'Grady continued 
his gaze on the ceiling and his whistle ; and Furlong, very 
uncomfortable and much more astonished, after sitting in 
silence for some time, thought a retreat the best move he could 
make, and intimated his wish to retire. 

Mrs. O'Grady gently suggested it was yet early ; which 
Furlong acknowledged, but pleaded his extreme fatigue after 
a day of great exertion. 

" I suppose you were canvassing," said O'Grady, with a 
wicked grin. 


" Ce'tainly not ; they could sca'cely pwesume on such a 
thing as that, I should think, in my pwesence." 
Then what fatigued you ? — eh ?" 

" Salmon fishing, sir." 

"What!" exclaimed O'G-rady, opening his fierce eyes, and 
turning suddenly round. " Salmon-fishing ! Where the d — 1 
were you salmon-fishing.' 

" In the wiver, close by here." 

The ladies now all stared ; but Furlong advanced a vehe- 
ment assurance in answer to their looks of wonder, that he 
had taken some very fine salmon indeed. 

The girls could not suppress their laughter ; and 0' Grady 
casting a look of mingled rage and contempt on the fisherman, 
merely uttered the ejaculation, " Oh, Moses ! " and threw him- 
self back in his chair ; but starting up a moment after, he rang 
the bell violently. "What do you want, my dear ?" said his 

Eoor wife, venturing to lift her eyes, and speaking in the 
umblest tone — "what do you want?" 

" Some broiled bones !" said O'Grady, very much like an 
ogre ; " I want something to settle my stomach after what I've 
heard, for by the powers of ipecacuanha, 'tis enough to make a 
horse sick — sick, by the powers ! — shivering all over like a 
dog in a wet sack. I must have broiled bones and hot 

The servant entered, and O'Grady swore at him for not 
coming sooner, though he was really expeditious in his answei 
to the bell. 

" Confound your lazy bones ; you're never in time." 

" Deed, sir ; I came the minit I heerd the bell." 

" Hold your tongue ! — who bid you talk ? The devil fly 
away with you ! and you'll never go fast till he does. Make 
haste now — go to the cook — " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Curse you ! can't you wait till you get your message ? 
Go to the devil with you ! — get some broiled bones — hot water 
and tumblers — don't forget the whisky — and pepper them well. 
Mind, hot — everything hot — screeching hot. Be off, now, and 
make haste — mind, make haste !" 

" Yes, sir," said the servant, whipping out of the room with 
celerity, and thanking Heaven when he had the door between 
him and his savage master. When he got to the kitchen, he 
told the cook to make haste, if ever she made haste in her life, 
"for there's owld Danger up-stairs in the divil's temper, God 
bless us !" said Mick. 

" Faix, he's always that," said the cook, scurrying across the 
kitchen for the gridiron. 


" Oh ! but he's beyant all to-night, said Mick ; 
he'll murther that chap up stairs before he stops." 

"Oh, wirra ! wirra!" cried the cook; "there's the fire not 
bright, bad luck to it, and he wantin' a brile!" 

"Bright or not bright," said Mick, "make haste I'd advise 
you, or he'll have your life." 

The bell rang violently. 

" There, do you hear him tattherin' ?" said Mick, rushing 
up stairs. 

" I thought it was tay they wor takin'," said Larry llogan, 
who was sitting in the chimney-corner, smoking. 

" So they are," said the cook. 

" Then I suppose, briled bones is genteel with tay ?" said 

" Oh, no ; it's not for tay, at all, they want them ; it's only 
ould Danger himself. Whenever he's in a rage he ates briled 

"Faith, they are a brave cure for anger," said Larry; "I 
wouldn't be angry myself, if I had one." 

Down rushed Mick, to hurry the cook — bang, twang ! went 
the bell as he spoke. "Oh, listen to him!" said Mick; "for 
the tendher mercy o' Heaven, make haste !" 

The cook transferred the bones from the gridiron to a hot 

" Oh, murther, but they're smoked !" said Mick. 

"No matther," said the cook, shaking her red elbow 
luriously; "I'll smother the smoke with the pepper — there! — 
give them a good dab o' musthard now, and sarve them hot !" 

Away rushed Mick, as the bell was rattled into fits again. 

While the cook had been broiling bones for O'Grady below, 
he had been grilling Furlong for himself above. In one of the 
pauses of the storm, the victim ventured to suggest to his 
tormentor that all the mischief that had arisen might have been 
avoided, if O'Grady had met him at the village, as he re- 
quested of him in one of his letters. O'Grady denied all 
knowledge of such a request, and after some queries about 
certain portions of the letter, it became manifest it had mis- 

"There!" said O'Grady; "there's a second letter astray; 
I'm certain they put my letters astray on purpose. There's a 
plot in the post-office against me ; by this and that, I'll have 
an inquiry. I wish all the post-offices in the world were blown 
up; and all the postmasters hanged, postmaster-general and 
nil — 1 do — by the 'ternal war, I do — and all the mail coaches 
in the world ground to powder, and the roads they go on into 
the bargain—devil a use in them but to carry bad news over 


the universe — for all the letters with any good in them are lost; 
and if there's a money enclosure in one, that's sure to be robbed. 
Blow the post-office, I say — blow it, and sink it !" 

It was at this moment Mick entered with the broiled bones, 
and while he was in the room, placing glasses on the table, and 
making the necessary arrangements for making " screeching hot 
punch," he heard O'Grady and Furlong talking about the two 
lost letters. 

On his decent to the kitchen the cook was spreading a bit 
of supper there, in which Andy was to join, he having just com- 
pleted some applications of brown paper and vinegar to the 
bruises received in his fall. Larry Hogan, too, was invited to 
share in the repast ; and it was not the first time, by many, 
that Larry quartered on the Squire. Indeed, many a good 
larder was opened to Larry Hogan; he held a very deep 
interest in the regards of all the female domestics over the 
country, not on the strength of his personal charms, for Larry 
had a hanging lip, a snub nose, a low forehead, a large ugly 
head, whose scrubby grizzled hair grew round the crown 
somewhat in the form of a priest's tonsure. Not on the 
strength of his gallantry, for Larry was always talking morality 
and making sage reflections, while he supplied the womankind 
with bits of lace, rolls of ribbon, and now and then silk stock- 
ings. He alwayshad some plausible story of how they happened 
to come in his way, for Larry was not a regular pedlar ; carry- 
ing no box, he drew his chance treasures from the recesses of 
very deep pockets contrived in various parts of his attire. No 
one asked Larry how he came by such a continued supply of 
natty articles, and if they had, Larry would not have told them 
for he was a very "close" man, as well as a "civil-spoken," 
under which character he was first introduced to the reader on 
the memorable night of Andy's destructive adventure in his 
mother's cabin. Larry Hogan was about as shrewd a fellow 
as any in the whole country, and while no one could exactly 
make out what he was, or how he made the two ends of his 
year meet, he knew nearly as much of every one's aiFairs as 
they did themselves ; in the phrase of the country, he was " as 
cute as a fox, as close as wax, and as deep as a draw-well." 

The supper party sat down in the kitchen, and between 
every three mouthfuls poor Mick could get, he was obliged to 
canter up stairs at the call of the fiercely-rung bell. Ever and 
anon, as he returned, he bolted his allowance with an ejacu- 
lation, sometimes pious, sometimes the reverse, on the hard 
fate of attending such a "born-devil," as he called the Squiro. 

" Why he's worse nor ever, to-night," says the cook. " What 
ails him at all — what is it all about?" 

I. ANDY ANDY. 145 

" Oh, he's blackguardin' and blastin' away about that quare 
slink-lookin' chap, up stairs, goin' to Squire Egan's instead of 
comin' here." 

" That was a bit o' your handy work," said Larry, with a 
grim smile at Andy. 

'• And then," said Mick, "he's swearin' by all the murthers 
in the world agen the whole counthry, about some letthers 
was stole out of the post-office by somebody." 

Andy's hand was in the act of raising a mouthful to his 
lips, when these words were uttered ; his hand fell and his 
mouth remained open. Larry Hogan had his eye on him at 
the moment. 

" He swares he'll have some one in the body o' the jail," 
said Mick ; "and he'll never stop till he sees them swing." 

Andy thought of the effigy on the wall, and his dream, and 
grew pale. 

"By the hokey," said Mick, "I never see him in sitch a 
tattherin' rage !" — bang went the bell again — " 0\v, ow !" cried 
Mick, bolting a piece of fa>t bacon, wiping his mouth on the 
sleeve of his livery, and running up stairs. 

" Misses Cook, ma'am," said Andy, shoving back his chair 
from the table ; " thank you ma'am, for your good supper. I 
think I'll be goin' now." 

" Sure, you're not done yet, man alive." 

" Enough is as good as a feast, ma'am," replied Andy. 

" Augh ! sure the morsel you took is more like a fast than 
a feast," said the cook, and it's not Lent." 

" It's not lent, sure enough," said Larry Hogan, with a sly 
grin ; " it's not lent, for you gave it to him." 

" Ah, Misther Hogan, you're always goin' on with your 
conundherums," said the cook ; " sure, that's not the lent 1 
mane at all — I mane Good Friday Lent." 

" Faix, every Friday is good Friday that a man gets his 
supper," said Larry 

"Well, you wiR De gom on, Misther Hogan." said tiw 
cook. " Oh, but you're a witty man, but I'd rather have a yard 
of your lace, any day, than a mile o' your discourse." 

" Sure, you ought not to mind my goin' on, when you're 
lettin' another man go off, that-a-way," said Larry, pointing to 
Andy, who, hat in hand, was quitting the kitchen. 

"Faix an' he mustn't go," said the cook; "there's two 
words to that bargain," and she closed the door, and put her 
back against it. 

" My mother's expectin' me, ma'am," said Andy. 

" Throth, if 't was your wife was expectin' you, she must 
wait a bit," said the cook; "sure you wouldn't leave the thirsty 


curse on my kitchen ? — you must take a dhrop before you go ; 
besides the dogs outside the place would ate you onless there 
was some one they knew along" wid you : and sure, if a dog 
bit you you couldn't dhrink wather afther, let alone a dhrop o' 
beer, or a thrifle o' sper'ts: isn't that thrue Misther Hogan?" 

" Indeed an' it is, ma'am," answered Larry ; " no one can 
dhrink afther a dog bites them, and that's the rayson that the 
larn'd fackleties calls the disaise high-dhry — " 

" High-dhry what ?" asked the cook. 

" That's what I'm thinkin' of," said Larry. "High-dhry 
— high-dhry — something." 

" There's high-dhry snuff," said the cook. 

" Oh, no — no, no, ma'am !" said Larry, waving his hand 
and shaking his head, as if unwilling to be interrupted in 
endeavouring to recall 

" Some fleeting remembrance;'' 

' high-dhry — po — po — something about po ; faith, it's not unlike 
popery," said Larry. 

" Don't say popery," cried the cook; " it's a dirty word ! 
Say Roman Catholic when you spake of the faith." 

" Do you think /would undhervalue the faith?" said Larry, 
casting up his eyes. " Oh, Missis Mulligan, you know little of 
me; d' you think I would undhervalue what is my hope, past, 
present, and to come ? — what makes our hearts light when our 
lot is heavy ! — what makes us love our neighbour as ourselves !" 

" Indeed, Misther Hogan," broke in the cook, " 1 never 
knew any one fonder of calling in on a neighbour than your- 
self, particularly about dinner-time—" 

" What makes us," said Larry, who would not let the cook 
interrupt his outpouring of pious eloquence ; " what makes us 
fierce in prosperity to our friends, and meek in adversity 
to our inimies ?" 

" Oh ! Misther Hogan !" said the cook, blessing herself. 

" What puts the leg undher you when you are in throuble ? 
why, your faith : what makes you below desait, and above 
reproach, and on neither side of nothin' ?" Larry slapped the 
table like a prime minister, and there was no opposition. " Oh, 
Missis Mulligan, do you think I would desaive or bethray my 
fellow-crayture ? Oh, no — I would not wrong the child unborn," 
— and this favourite phrase of Larry (and other rascals) was, 
and is, unconsciously, true ; for people, most generally, must 
be born before they can be much wronged. 

" Oh, Missis Mulligan," said Larry, with a devotional appeal 


f his eyes to the ceiling, "be at war with sin, find you'll be at 
paice with yourself!" 

Just as Larry wound up his pious peroration, Mick shoved 
in the door against which the cook supported herself, and told 
Andy the Squire said he should not leave the hall that night. 

Andy looked aghast. 

Again Larry Ilogan's eye was on him. 

" Sure I can come back here in the mornin'," said Andy, 
ho at the moment he spoke was conscious of the intention of 
eing some forty miles out of the place before dawn, if he could 
get away. 

" When the Squire says a thing, it must be done," said 
Mick. "You must sleep here." 

" And pleasant dhrames to you," said Larry, who saw Andy 
wince under his kindly-worded stab. 

" And where must I sleep ?" asked Andy, dolefully. 

" Out in the big loft," said Mick. 

" I'll show you the way," said Larry ; "I'm goin' to sleep 
there myself to-night, for it would be too far to go home. 
Good night, Mrs. Mulligan — good night, Mickey — come along, 

Andy followed Hogan ; they had to cross a yard to reach 
the stables ; the night was clear, and the waning moon shed a 
steady though not a bright light on the enclosure. Hogan 
cast a lynx eye around him to see if the coast was clear, and 
satisfying himself it was, he laid his hand impressively on 
Andy's arm as they reached the middle of the yard, and setting 
Andy's face right against the moonlight, so that he might 
watch the slightest expression, he paused for a moment before 
he spoke ; and when he spoke, it was in a low mysterious 
whisper — low, as if he feared the night breeze might betray it, 
— and the words were few, but potent, which he uttered ; they 
were these — " Who robbed the post-office f 

The result quite satisfied Hogan ; and he knew how to 
turn his knowledge to account. 0' Grady and Egan were no 
longer friends ; a political contest was pending ; letters were 
missing ; Andy had been Egan's servant ; and Larry Hogan 
had enough of that mental chemical power, which, from a few 
raw facts, unimportant separately, could make a combination 
of great value. 

Soon after breakfast at Merryvale the following morning, 
Mrs. Egan wanted to see the Squire. She went to his sitting- 
room — it was bolted. He told her, from the inside, he was 
engaged just then but would see her by and by. She retired 
to the drawing-room where Fanny was singing " Oh, Fanny," 
taid her sister " sing me that dear new song of ' the voices,' 'tis 



so sweet, and must be felt by those, who, like me, have ahappv 

Fanny struck a few notes of a wild and peculiar symphony 
and sang her sister's favourite. 

&\z Warn foifjjw. 

You ask the dearest place on earth, 
Whose simple joys can never die ; 
'Tis the holy pale of the happy hearth, 
Where love doth light each beaming eye 
With snowy shroud 
Let tempests loud 
Around my old tower raise their din ; — 
What hoots the shout 
Of storms without, 
While voices sweet resound within? 
O, dearer sound 
For the tempest round, 
The voices sweet within ! 

2 ask not wealth, I ask not power , 

But, gracious Heaven, oh grant to me 
That, when the storms of Fate may lower. 
My heart just like my home may be! 
When in the gale 
Poor Hope's white sail 
No haven can for shelter win, 
Fate's darkest skies 
The heart defies 
Whose still small voice is sweet within 
Oli, heavenly sound, 
'Mid the tempest round, 
That voice so sweet within ! 

Egan had entered as Fanny was singing the secona 
verse ; he wore a troubled air, which his wife, at first, did not 
remark. " Is not that a sweet song, Edward ?" said she. " No 
one ought to like it more than you, for your home is your 
happiness, and no one has a clearer conscience." 

Egan kissed her gently, and thanked her for her good 
opinion, and asked her what she wished to say to him. They 
left the room. 

Fanny remarked Egan's unusually troubled air, and it 
marred her music ; leaving the piano, and walking to the 
window, she saw Larry Hogan walking from the house, down 
the avenue. 



Ip the morning brought uneasiness and distrust to Merry- 
rale, it dawned not more brightly on Neck-or-nothing Hall. 
The discord of the former night was not preparatory to 
barmony on the morrow, and the parties separating in ill- 
humour from the drawing-room were not likely to look for- 
ward with much pleasure to the breakfast-parlour. But before 
breakfast sleep was to intervene — that is, for those who could 
get it — and the unfortunate Furlong was not amongst the 
number. Despite the very best feather bed Mrs. O'Grady had 
selected, for him from amongst her treasures, it was long before 
slumber weighed down his feverish eye-lids ; and even then, it 
was only to have them opened again in some convulsive start of 
a troubled dream. All his adventures of the last four-and 
twenty hours were jumbled together in strange confusion — now 
on a lonely road, while dreading the assaults of robbers, his 
course was interrupted not by a highwayman, but a river, 
whereon embarking, he began to catch salmon in a most sur- 
prisingly rapid manner, but just as he was about to haul in his 
tish it escaped from the hook, and the salmon, making wry 
faces at him, very impertinently exclaimed, " Sure, you wouldn't 
catch a poor, ignorant, Irish salmon ?" He then snapped his 
pistols at the insolent fish — then his carriage breaks down and 
he is suddenly transferred from the river to the road ; thieves 
6eize upon him and bind his hands, but a charming young lady 
with pearly teeth frees him from his bonds, and conducts him to 
a castle where a party is engaged in playing cards ; he is in- 
vited to join, and as his cards are dealt to him he anticipates 
triumph in the game, but by some malicious fortune his trumps 
are transformed into things of no value, as they touch the 
board ; he loses his money and is kicked out when his purse has 
been emptied, and he escapes along a dark road pursued by his 
spoilers, who would take his life, and a horrid cry of "broiled 
bones " rings in his ears as he flies ; he is seized and thrown 
into a river, where, as he sinks, shoals of salmon raise a chorus 
of rejoicing, and he wakes out of the agonies of dream-drown- 
ing to find himself nearly suffocated by sinking into the feathery 
depths of Mrs. O'Grady 's pet bed. After a night passed in such 
troubled visions the unfortunate Furlong awoke unrefreshed, 
and, with bitter recollections of the past and mournful anticipa- 


tions of the future, arose and prepared to descend to tha parlour, 
where a servant told him breakfast was ready. 

His morning greeting 1 by the family was not of that hearty 
and cheerful character which generally distinguishes the house 
of an Irish squire ; for though O'Grady was not so savage as on 
the preceding evening, he was rather gruff, and the ladies 
dreaded being agreeable when the master's temper blew from a 
stormy point. Furlong could not help regretting at this mo- 
ment the lively breakfast-table at Merryvale, nor avoid con- 
trasting to disadvantage the two Miss O'Gradys with Fanny 
Dawson. Augusta, the eldest, inherited the prominent nose oi 
her father, and something of his upper lip too, beard included , 
and these, unfortunately, were all she was ever likely to inherit 
from him ; and Charlotte, the younger, had the same traits in s 
moderated degree. Altogether, he thought the girls the plainest 
he had ever seen, and the house more horrible than anything 
that was ever imagined ; and he sighed a faint fashionable 
sigh, to think his political duties had expelled him from a para- 
dise to send him 

"The other way — the other way!" 

Four boys and a little girl sat at a side-table, where a capacious 
jug of milk, large bowls, and a lusty loaf were laid under con- 
tribution amidst a suppressed but continuous wrangle, which 
was going forward amongst the juniors ; and a snappish " I 
will," or "I won't,'' a "Let me alone," or a "Behave your- 
self," occasionally was distinguishable above the murmur of dis- 
satisfaction. A little squall from the little girl at last made 
O'Grady turn round and swear that if they did not behave them- 
selves, he'd turn them all out. 

" It is all Goggy, sir," said the girl. 

"No, it's not, you dirty little thing," cried George, whose 
name was thus euphoniously abbreviated. 

"He's putting — "said the girl, with excitement. 

" Ah, you dirty little — " interrupted Goggy, in a low, con« 
temptuous tone. 

" He's putting, sir, — " 

" Whisht ! you young 1 devils, will you?" cried O'Grady, and 
ft momentary silence prevailed ; but the little girl snivelled and 
put up her bib* to wipe her eyes, while Goggy put out his 
tongue at her. Many minutes had not elapsed\vhen the girl 
again whimpered — 

" Call to Goggy, papa ; he's putting some mouse's tails info 
JYiy milk, Bir." 

* Pinafora 


" All, you dirty little tell-tale! " cried Goggy, reproachfully: 
" a tell-tale is worse than a mouse's tail." 

O'Grady jumped up, gave Master Goggy a box on the ear, 
ond then caught him by the aforesaid appendage to his head, 
and as he led him to the door by the same, Goggy bellowed 
lustily, and when ejected from the room howled down the pas- 
fage more like a dog than a human being. O'Grady, on re 
Burning his seat, told Polshee* (the little girl) she was always 
getting Goggy a beating, and she was a little cantankerous cat 
and a dirty tell-tale, as Goggy said. Amongst the ladies and 
Furkng the breakfast went forward with coldness and con- 
straint, and all were glad when it was nearly over. At this 
period, Mrs. O'Grady half-filled a large bowl from the tea-urn, 
and then added to it some weak tea, and Miss O'Grady collected 
all the broken bread about the table on a plate. Just then Fur- 
long ventured to "twouble" Mrs. O'Grady for a leetle more ten, 
and before he handed her his cup he would have emptied the 
sediment in the slop-basin, but by mistake he popped it into 
the large bowl of miserable Mrs. O'Grady had prepared. Fur- 
long begged a thousand pardons, but Mrs. O'Grady assured 
him it was of no consequence, as it was only for tfie tutor! 

O'Grady, having swallowed his breakfast as fast as possible, 
left the room ; the whole party soon followed, and on arriving 
in the drawing-room, the young ladies L-o&.-ii-iii more agreeable 
when no longer under the constraint of their ogre father. Fur- 
long talked slip-slop common places with them ; they spoke of 
the country and the weather, and he of the city ; they assured 
him that the dews were heavy in the evening, and that the grass 
was so green in that part of the country ; he obliged them with 
the interesting information, that the Liny ran through Dublin, 
but that the two sides of the city communicated by means of 
bridges — that the houses were built of red brick generally, and 
that the hall-doors were painted in imitation of mahogany ; to 
which the young ladies responded, " La, how odd ! " and 
added, that in the country people mostly painted their hall-doors 
green, to match the grass. Furlong admitted the propriety ot 
the proceeding, and said he liked uniformity. The young ladies 
quite coincided in his opinion, declared they all were so fond of 
uniformity, and added that one of their carriage horses was 
blind. Furlong admitted the excellence of the observation and 
said, in a very soft voice, that Love was blind also. 

" Exactly," said Miss O'Grady, " and that's the reason we 
eall our horse ' Cupid! ' " 

" How clever ! " replied Furlong. 

* Mary. 


" And the mare that goes in harness with him — she's an 
ugly creature, to be sure — but we call her 'Venus.'" 

" How dwoll," said Furlong. 

•< That's for uniformity," said Miss O'Grady. 

" How good ! '' was the rejoinder. 

Mrs. O'Grady who had left the room for a few minutes now 
returned and told Fur/long she would show him over the house 
if he pleased. He assented, of course, and under her guidance 
went through many apartments ; those on the basement story 
were hurried through rapidly, but when Mrs. O'Grady got 
him up-stairs, amongst the bed-rooms, she dwelt on the ex- 
cellence of every apartment. " This I need not show you, Mr. 
Furlong — 'tis your own; I hope you slept well last night?" 
This was the twentieth time the question had been asked. 
"Now, here is another, Mr. Furlong, the window looks out on 
the lawn : so nice to look out on a lawn I think in the morning, 
when one gets up ! — so refreshing and wholesome! Oh! you 
are looking at the stain in the ceiling, but we couldn't get the 
roof repaired in time before the winter set in last year; and Mr. 
O'Grady thought we might as well have the painters and 
slaters together in the summer — and the house does want paint, 
indeed — but we all hate the smell of paint. See here, Mr. Fur- 
long," and she turned up a quilt as she spoke ; " just put youi 
hand into that bed ; did you ever feel a finer bed ?" 

Furlong declared he never did. 

"Oh, you don't know how to feel a bed! — put your hand 
into it — well, that way ;" and Mrs. O'Grady plunged her arm 
up to the elbow into the object of her admiration. Furlong 
poked the bed and was all laudation. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" 

" Cha'ming! " replied Furlong, trying to pick off the bits 
of down which clung to his coat. 

" Oh, never mind the down — you shall be brushed after ; 
I always show my beds, Mr. Furlong. Now, here's another ;" 
and so she went on, dragging poor Furlong up and down the 
house, and he did not get out of her clutches till he had poked 
all the beds in the establishment. As soon as that ceremony 
was over and that his coat had undergone the process of brush- 
ing he wished to take a stroll, and was going forth, when Mrs. 
O'Grady interrupted him, with the assurance that it would not 
be safe unless some one of the family became his escort, for th6 
dogs were very fierce — Mr. O'Grady was so fond of dogs, and 
so proud of a particular breed of dogs he had, so remarkable for 
their courage — he had better wait till the boys had done theii 
Latin lesson. So Furlong was marched back to the drawing* 


There the younger daughter addressed him with a message 
fioru her grandmamma, who wished to have the pleasure of 
making his acquaintance and hoped he would pay her a visit, 
Furlong, of course, was " quite delighted," and '' too happy," 
and the young lady, thereupon, led him to the old lady's apart- 

The old dowager had been a beauty in her youth — one of the 
belles of the Irish court, and when she heard " a gentleman 
from Dublin Castle " was in the house she desired to see him. 
To see any one from the seat of her juvenile joys and triumphs 
would have given her delight, were it only the coachman that 
had driven a carriage to a levee or drawing-room ; she could 
ask him about the sentinels at the gate, the entrance-porch, and 
if the long range of windows yet glittered with lights on St. 
Patrick's night ; but to have a conversation with an officia. 
from that seat of government and courtly pleasure, was, indeed 
something to make her happy. 

On Furlong being introduced the old lady received him very 
courteously, at the same time with a certain air that betokened 
she was accustomed to deference. Her commanding figure was 
habited in a loose morning wrapper, made of grey flannel ; but 
while this gave evidence she studied her personal comfort rather 
than appearance, a bit of pretty silk handkerchief about the 
heck, very knowingly displayed, and a becoming ribbon in her 
cap showed she did not quite neglect her good looks ; it did not 
i equire a very quick eye to see, besides, a small touch of rouge 
on the cheek which age had depressed, and the assistance of 
] ndian ink to the eyebrow which time had thinned and faded 
A glass filled with flowers stood on the table before her, and a 
quantity of books lay scattered about ; a guitar — not the. Spanish 
instrument now in fashion, but the English one of some eighty 
years ago, strung with wire and tuned in thirds — hung by a 
blue ribbon, beside her ; a corner cupboard, fantastically carved, 
bore some curious specimens of china on one side of the room; 
while, in strange discord with what was really scarce and beau 
tiful, the commonest Dutch cuckoo-clock was suspended on 
the opposite wall ; close beside her chair stood a very pretty 
little Japan table, bearing a looking-glass with numerou" 
drawers framed in the same material ; and while Furlong seated 
himself, the old lady cast a sidelong glance at the mirror, and 
her withered fingers played with the fresh ribbon. 

" You have recently arrived from the Castle, sir, I under- 

" Quite wecentl_ , madam — awived last night." 

" I hope his Excellency is well — not that I have the honour 
of his acquaintance, but i love the Lord Lieutenant — and tbj 


nides-de- camps are so nice, and the little pages!— put a marker 
in that book/' said she, in an under tone, to her granddaughter, 
' page seventy-four — ah," she resumed in a higher tone, " that 
reminds me of the Honorable Captain Wriggle, who com- 
manded a seventy-four, and danced with me at the Castle the 
evening Lady Legge sprained her ankle. By the bye, are 
there any seventy-fours in Dublin now?" 

" I wather think," said Furlong, "the bay is not sufficiently 
deep for line-of-battle-ships." 

" Oh dear, yes ! I have seen quantities of seventy-fours 
there ; though, indeed, I am not quite sure if it wasn't at Split- 
head. Give me the smelling salts, Charlotte, love ; mine does 
ache indeed ! How subject the dear Duchess of Rutland was 
to head-aches ; you did not know the Duchess of Rutland? — 
no, to be sure, what am I thinking of, you're too young; but 
those were the charming days! You have heard, of course, the 
duchess's bon mot in reply to the compliment of Lord — — , but I 
must not mention his name, because there was some scandal 
about them ; but the gentleman said to the duchess — I must 
tell you she was Isabella, Duchess of Rutland — and he said, 
' Isabelle is a belle.' to which the duchess replied, ' Isabelle mas 
a belle.'" 

" Vewyneat, indeed!'' said Furlong. 
" Ah ! poor thing," said the dowager, with a sigh, " she 
was beginning to be a little passee, then ;" she looked in the 
glass herself, and added, " Dear me, how pale I am this morn- 
ing!" and pulling out one of the little drawers from the Japan 
looking-glass, she took out a pot of rouge and heightened the 
colour on her cheek. The old lady not only heightened her own 
colour, but that of the witnesses — of Furlong particularly, who 
was quite surprised. " Why am I so very pale this morning, 
Charlotte, love ? " continued the old lady. 
" You sit up so late reading, grandmama." 
" Ah, who can resist the fascination of the muses ? You are 
fond of literature, I hope, sir ? " 
" Extwemely," replied Furlong. 

" As a statesman," continued the old lady — to whom Fur- 
iong made a deep obeisance at the word " statesman " — " as a 
statesman, of course your reading lies in the more solid de- 
partment : but if you ever do condescend to read a romance, 
there is the sweetest thing I ever met I am just now engaged in ; 
it is called ' The Blue Robber of the Pink Mountain.' I have 
not come to the pink mountain yet, but the blue robber is the 
most perfect character. The author, however, is guilty of a 
strange forgetfulness ; he begins by speaking of the robber as of 


the middle age, and soon after describes him as a young man. 
Now, how could a young man be of the middle age ? " 

" It seems a stwange inaccuwacy," lisped Furlong, " But 
poets sometimes pwesume on the pwivelege they have of doing 
what they please with their hewoes." 

" Quite true, sir. And talking of heroes, I hope the knighti 
of St. Patrick are well — I do admire them so much! — 'tis so 
interesting to see their banners and helmets hanging up in SL 
Patrick's Cathedral, that venerable pile! — with the loud peal of 
the organ — sublime — isn't it ? — the banners almost tremble in 
the vibration of the air to the loud swell of the ' A-a-a-men !' — 
the very banners seem to wave ' Amen ! ' Oh, that swell is so 
tine ! — I think they are fond of swells in the choir ; they have 
a good effect, and some of the young men are so good looking ! 
— and the little boys, too — I suppose they are chorister's chil- 

The old lady made a halt, and Furlong filled up the pause 
by declaring, " He weally couldn't say." 

"I hope you admire the service at St. Patrick's?" con 
tinued the old lady. 

"Ye-s — I think St. Paytwick's a vewy amusing place oi 

" Amusing," said the old lady, half offended. " Inspiring, 
you mean ; not that I think the sermon interesting, but the 
anthem! — oh, the anthem, it is so fine! — and the old banners, 
those are my delight — the dear banners covered with dust !" 

" Oh, as far as that goes," said Furlong, " they have im- 
pwoved the cathedwal vewy much, fo' they whitewashed it 
inside, and put up noo banners." 

" Whitewash and new banners ! " exclaimed the indignant 
dowager ; " the Goths ! to remove an atom of the romantic dust ! 
I would not have let a house-maid into the place for the world ! 
But they have left the anthem, I hope ? " 

" Oh, yes ; the anthem is continued, but with a small dif- 
fewence : — they used to sing the anthem befo' the se'mon, but 
the people used to go away afte' the anthem and neve' waited 
fo' the se'mon, and the bishop, who is pwoud of his pweaehing, 
orde'ed the anthem to be postponed till afte' the se'mon." 

" Oh, yes," said the old lady, " I remember, now, hearing o. 
that, and some of the wags in Dublin saying the bishop was 
jealous of old Spray ;* and didn't somebody write something 
called * Pulpit versus Organloft ?' " 

" I cawnt say " 

" Well, I am glad you like the cathedral, sir ; but I wish 


they had not dusted the banners ; I used to look at them ah 
the time the service went on — they were so romantic ! I sup- 
pose you go there every Sunday ? " 

" I go in the summe'," said Furlong ; " the place ie so cold 
in the winte'." 

" That's true indeed," responded the Dowager, " and it's 
quite funny, when your teeth are chattering with cold, to hear 
Spray singing, ' Comfort ye, my people;' but, to be sure, that 
is almost enough to warm you. You are fond of music, I per* 
ceive ? " 


" / play the guitar — (citra — cithra — or lute, as it is called 
by the poets). I sometimes sing, too. Do you know ' The 
lass with the delicate air?' a sweet ballad of the old school— 
my instrument once belonged to Dolly Bland, the celebrated 
Mrs. Jordan now — ah, there, sir, is a brilliant specimen of Irish 
mirthfulness — what a creature she is! Hand me my lute, 
child," she said to her grand-daughter, and having adjusted the 
blue ribbon over her shoulder, and twisted the tuning-pegs, and 
thrummed upon the wires for some time, she made a prelude 
and cleared her throat to sing " The lass with the delicate air," 
when the loud whirring of the clock-wheels interrupted her, 
and she looked up with great delight at a little door in the top 
of the clock, which suddenly sprang open, and out popped a 
wooden bird. 

" Listen to my bird, sir," said the old lady. 

The sound of "cuckoo" was repeated twelve times, the 
bird popped in again, the little door closed, and the monotonous 
tick of the clock continued. 

" That's my little bird, sir, that tells me secrets; and now, 
sir, you must leave me ; I never receive visits after twelve. I 
can't sing you ' The lass with the delicate air ' to-day, for who 
would compete with the feathered songsters of the grove ? and 
after my sweet little warbler up there, I dare not venture ; but 
I will sing it for you to-morrow. Good morning, sir. I am 
happy to have had the honour of making your acquaintance." 
She bowed Furlong out very politely, and as her granddaughter 
was following, she said, " My love, you must not forget some 
seeds for my little bird." £■ arlong looked rather surprised, for 
he saw no bird but the one in the clock ; the young lady marked 
his expression, and as she closed the door she said, "You must 
not mind grandmama; you know she is sometimes a little 

Furlong was now handed over to the boys, to show him 
over the domain ; and they, young imps as they were, knowing 
he was ia no favour with their father, felt they might treat him 


ns ill ns tlipy pleased, and quiz him with impunity. The first 
portion of Furlong's penance consisted in being 1 dragged through 
dirty stable-yards arid out-houses, and shown the various pets of 
all the parties; dogs, pigeons, rabbits, weasels, et ctetera, were 
paraded, and their qualities expatiated upon, till poor Furlong 
was quite weary of them, and expressed a desire to see the do- 
main. Horatio, the second boy, whose name was abbreviated 
to Ratty, told him they must wait for Gusty, who was mending 
his spear. " We're going to spear for eels," said the boy ; did 
you ever spear for eels ? " 

" I should think not," said Furlong, with a knowing smile, 
who suspected this was intended to be a second edition of 
quizzing a la mode de saumon. 

" You think I'm joking," said the boy, " but it's famous 
sport, I can tell you ; but if you're tired of waiting here, come 
along with me to the milliner's, and we can wait for Gusty 

While following the boy, who jumped along to the tune of 
a jig he was whistling, now and then changing the whistle 
into a song to the same tune, with very odd words indeed, and 
a burden of gibberish ending with " riddle-diddle-dow," Furlong 
wondered what a milliner could have to do in such an establish- 
ment, and his wonder was not lessened when his guide added, 
" The milliner is a queer chap, and maybe he'll tell us some- 
thing funny." 

" Then the milline' is a man ? " iicid Furlong. 

" Yes," said the boy, laughing; " and he does not work 
with needle and thread either." 

They approached a small out-house as he spoke, and the 
sharp clinking of a hammer fell on the ear. Shoving open a 
rickety door the boy cried, " Well, Fogy, I've brought 
gentleman to see you. This is Fogy the milliner, sir," said h 
to Furlong, whose surprise was further increased, when, in t 1 < 
person of the man called the milliner, he beheld a tinier 

" What a strange pack of people 1 have got amongst ! " 
thought Furlong. 

The old tinker saw his surprise and grinned at him. " I 
suppose it was a nate young woman you thought you'd see 
when he towld you he'd bring you to the milliner — ha! hu ! 
ha ! Oh, they're nate lads, the Master O'Gradys ; divil a 
thing they call by the proper name, at all." 

" Yes we do," said the boy, sharply ; " we call ourselves 
by our proper name. Ha, Fogy, I have you there." 

" Divil a taste, a9 smart as you think yourself, Masther 
Batty ; you call yourselves gentlemen, and that's not youi 
proper name." 


Katty, who was scraping triangles on the door with a bit 
of broken brick, at once converted his pencil into a missile, and 
let fly at the head of the tinker, who seemed quite prepared 
for ?uch a result, for, raising the kettle he was mending, he 
caught the shot adroitly, and the brick rattled harmlessly on 
the tin. 

" Ha ! " said the tinker, mockingly, " you missed me, 
like your mammy's blessin' ; " and he pursued his worjt. 

" What a very odd name he calls you," said Furlong, 
addressing' young O'Grady. 

" Ratty," said the boy. " Oh, yes, they call me Ratty, 
short for Horatio. I was called Horatio after Lord Nelson. 
because Lord Kelson's father was a clergyman, and papa 
intends rne for the Church." 

" And a nate clargy you'll make," said the tinker 

" And why do they call you milline' ? " enquired Furlong. 
The old man looked up and grinn'd, but said nothing. 

"You'll know before long, I'll engage," said Ratty; 
" won't he, Fogy ? You were with old Gran' to-dav, wern't 
you I " 

" Yes." 

"Did she sing to you ' The lass with the delicate air ? '" 
said the boy, putting himself in the attitude of a person 
playing the guitar, throwing up hi8 eyes, and mimicking the 
voice of an old woman — 

" So they call'd her, they call'd her, 
The lass — the lass 

With a delicate air, 
De — lick-it — lick-it — lick-it 
The lass with a de — lick-it air." 

The young rascal made frightful mouths, and put out his 
t 'Dgue every time he said " lick-it," and when he had finished, 
a- ked Furlong, "Wasn't that the thing?" Furlong told him 
his grandmamma had been going to sing it, but this pleasure 
had been deferred till to-morrow. 

'' Then you did not hear it ? " said Ratty. 

Furlong answered in the negative. 

" Och ! murder ! murder ! I'm sorry I told you." 

" Is it so vewy pa'ticula', then 1 " inquired Furlong. 

'' Oh, you'll find out that and more too, if you live long 
enough," was the answer. Then turning to the tinker he said, 
" Have you any milliner work in hand, Fogy ? " 

"To be sure I have," answered the tinker; ''who has so 
good a right to know that as yourself I Throth, you've little 
to do, Vm. tMnkin', when you ax that idle question. Oh 


you're nate lads ! And would nothin' sarve you but bra kin 
the weathercock P " 

" Oh, 'twas such a nice cock-shot : 'twas impossible not to 
bave a shy at it," said Ratty, chuckling-. 

" Oh,*you're nice lads ! " still chimed in the tinker. 

" Besides," said Ratty, " Gusty bet a bull-dog- pup against 
a rabbit, I could not smash it in three g-oes." 

'• Faix, an' he ought to know you betther than that," said 
ti.e tinker; " for you'd make a fair offer* at anything-, I think, 
but an answer to 'your schoolmasther. Oh, a nate lad you are 
—a nate lad !— a nice clarg-y you'll bo, your riverince. Oh, 
if you hit off the tin commandments as fast as you hit off the 
tin weathercock, it's a good man you'll be — an' if I never had 
a head-ache 'till then, sure it's happy I'd be ! " 

" Hold your prate, old Growly, " said Ratty ; *' and why 
don't you mend the weathercock ? " 

" I must mend the kittle first— and a purty kittle you 
have made of it !— and would nothing- sarve you but the best 
kittle in the house to tie to the dog's tail ? Ah', Masther Ratty, 
you're terrible boys, so yis are ! " 

"Hold your pratej you old thief! — why wouldn't we 
amuse ourselves ? 

" And buntin' the poor dog-, too." 

" Well, what matter ! — he was a strange dog-." 

" That makes no differ in the cruelty." 

" Ah, bother, you old humbug ! — who was it blackened 
the rag-woman's eye ? — ha ! Fogy— ha ! Fogy — dirty Fogy ! " 

" Go away, Masther Ratty, you're too good, so you are, 
your riverince. Faix, I wondher his honour the Squire doesn't 
murther you sometimes." 

" He would if he could catch us," replied Ratty, " but we 
run too fast for him, so divil thank him ! — and you, too, Fogy, 
— ha, old Growly ! Come along, Mr. Furlong, here's Gusty ; 
bad scran to you, Fogy ! " and" he slammed the door as he 
quitted the tinker. 

Gustavus, followed by two younger brothers, Theodore and 
Godfrey (for O'Grady loved high-sounding names in baptism, 
though they got twisted into such queer shapes in family use), 
now led the way over the park towards the river. Some fine 
timber they passed occasionally, but the axe had manifestly 
been busy, and the wood seemed thinned rather from necessity 
than for improvement ; the paths were choked with weeds and 
fallen leave-, and the rank moss added its evidence of neglect. 

• A " fair cf!Vr" h a phrase amongst the Irish peasantry, meaning t 
inccessfal ai:n. 


The boys pointed out anything 1 they thought worthy of obser- 
vation by the way, such as the best places to find a hare, i he most 
covered approach to the river to get a shot at wild ducks, or where 
the best young 1 wood was to be found from whence to cut a 
stick. On reaching 1 their point of destination, which was where 
the river was less rapid, and its banks sedgy and thickly 
grown with flaggers and bulrushes, the sport of spearing for 
eels commenced. Gusty first undertook the task, and after 
some vigorous plunges of his instrument into the water, lie 
brought up the prey, wriggling between its barbed prongs. 
Furlong was amazed, for he thought this, like the salmon 
fishing, was intended as a quiz, and after a few more examples 
of Gusty's prowess, he undertook the sport; a short time, 
however, fatigued hi3 unpractised arm, and he relinquished the 
spear to Theodore, or Tay, as they called him, and Tay shortly 
brought up his fish, and thus, one after another, the boys, 
successful in their sport, soon made the basket heavy. 

Then, and not till then, they desired Furlong to carry it ; 
he declared he had no curiosity whatever in that line, but the 
boys would not let him off so easy, and told him the practice 
there was, that every one should take his share in the day's 
sport, and as he could not catch the fish he should carry it. 
He attempted a parley, and suggested he was only a visitor. 
but they only laughed at him — said that might be a very good 
Dublin joke, but it would not pass in the country. He then 
attempted laughingly to decline the honour, but Eatty, turning 
round to a monstrous dog, which hitherto had followed them 
quietly, said, "Here! Bloodybones ; here! boy! at him, sir! 
--make him do his work, boy ! " The bristling savage made 
a low growl and fixed his eyes on Furlong, who attempted to 
remonstrate, but he very soon gave that up, for another word 
from the boys urged the dog to a howl and a crouch, prepara- 
tory to a spring, and Furlong made no further resistance, but 
took up the basket, amid the uproarious laughter of the boys, 
who continued their sport, adding every now and then to the 
weight of Furlong's load, and whenever he lagged behind, they 
cried out, " Come along, man-Jack ! " which was the com- 
plimentary name they called him by for the rest of the day. 
Furlong thought spearing for eels worse sport than fishing for 
salmon, and was rejoiced when a turn homeward was taken by 
the party ; but his annoyances were not yet ended. On their 
return, their route lay across a plank of considerable length 
which spanned a small branch of the river ; it had no central 
support, and consequently sprang considerably to the foot of 
the passenger, who was afforded no protection from handrail, 
or even a swinging rope, and this rendered its passage difficult 


to an unpractised person. When Furlong' was told to niaVe 
his way across, he hesitated, and after many assurances on his 
part that he could not attempt it, Gusty said he would lead 
bim o^er in security, and took his hand for the purpose ; but 
when he had him just in the centre, he loosed himself from 
Furlong's hold, and ran to the opposite side. While Furlong 
was praying him to return, Ratty ufcole behind him suffi- 
ciently far to have purchase enough on the plank, and began 
jumping till he made it spring too high for poor Furlong to 
hold his footing any longer; so squatting on the plank, J,i* 
got astride upon it, and held on with his hands, every descend- 
ing vibration of the board dipping hia dandy boots in the 

" Well done, Ratty ! " Bhouted all the boys. 

" Splash him, Tay ! " cried Gusty. " Pull away, Goggy r ' 

The three boys now began pelting large stones into the 
river close beside Furlong, splashing him so thoroughly, that 
he was wringing wet in five minutes. In vain Furlong 
shouted, " Young gentlemen I young gentlemen ! " and, at 
last, when he threatened to complain to their father, they 
recommenced worse than before, and vowed they'd throw him 
into the stream if he did not promise to be silent on the subject, 
for, to use their own words, if they were to be beaten, they 
might as well duck him at once, and have the " worth 01 
their licking." At last, a compromise being effected, Furlong 
6tood up to walk off the plank. " Remember," said Rattyj 
" you won't tell we hoised* you 'I " 

" I won't indeed," said Furlong ; and he got safe to land. 

" But I will ! " cried a voice from a neighbouring wood ; 
and Miss O'Grady appeared, surrounded by a crowd of little 
pet-dogs. She shook her head in a threatening manner at the 
offenders, and all the little dogs set up a yelping bark, as if to 
enforce their mistress' anger. The snappish barking of the 
pets was returned by one hoarse bay from " Bloodybones," 
which silenced the little dogs, as a broadside from a seventy- 
four would dumbfounder a flock of privateers, and the boys 
returned the sister's threat by a universal shout of "Tell- 
tale ! " 

" Go home, tell-tale ! " they all cried ; and with an 
action equally simultaneous, they stooped one and all for 
pebbles, and pelted Miss Augusta so vigorously, that she and 
her dogs were obliged to run for it. 

* A vulgarism for "hoisted." 



Having recounted Furlong's out-door nd ventures, it is 
necessary to say something of what was passing at JSTeck-or- 
nothing Hall in his absence. 

O' Grady, on leaving the breakfast-table, retired to his 
justice-room to transact business, a principal feature in which 
was the examination of Handy Andy, touching the occurrences 
of the evening he drove Furlong to Merryvale ; for though 
Andy was clear of the charge for which he had been taken into 
custody, namely, the murder of Furlong, O'Grady thought he 
might have been a party to some conspiracy to drive the 
stranger to the enemy's camp, and therefore put him to the 
question very sharply. This examination he had set his heart 
upon ; and reserving it as a bon bouche, dismissed all prelimi- 
nary cases in a very off-hand manner, just as men carelessly 
swallow a few oysters preparatory to dinner. 

As for Andy, when he was summoned to the justice-room, 
he made sure it was for the purpose of being charged with 
robbing the post-oihce, and cast a sidelong glance at the effigy 
of the man hanging on the wall, as he was marched up to the 
desk where O'Grady sat in magisterial dignity ; and, therefore, 
when he found it was only for driving a gentleman to a wrong 
house all the pother was made, his heart was lightened of a 
heavy load, and he answered briskly enough. The string of 
question and reply was certainly an entangled one, and left 
O'Grady as much puzzled as before whether Andy was stupid 
and innocent, or too knowing to let himself be caught — and to 
this opinion he clung at last. In the course of the inquiry, he 
found Andy had been in service at Merryvale; and Andy, 
telling him he knew all about waiting at table, and so forth, 
and O'Grady being in want of an additional man-servant in 
the house while his honourable guest, Sackville Scatterbrain, 
should be on a visit with him, Andy was told he should be 
taken on trial for a month. Indeed, a month was as long aa 
most servants could stay in the house — they came and went as 
fast as figures in a magic lanthern. 

Andy was installed in his new place, and set to work imme- 
diately scrubbing up extras of all sorts to make the receptioD 
of the honourable candidate for the county as brilliant as 
possible ( not only for the honour of the house, but to make a 


favourable impression on the coming guest; for Augusta, tho 
eldest girl, was marriageable, and to her lather's ears " The 
Honourable Mrs. Sackville Scatterbrain" would have sounded 
■nucli more agreeably than " Miss O'Grady." 

"Well — who knows?" said O'Grady to his wife; "such 
things have come to pass. Furbish her up, and make her look 
smart at dinner — he has a good fortune, and will be a peer one 
of these days — worth catching. Tell her so." 

Leaving these laconic observations and directions behind 
him, he set off" to the neighbouring town to meet Scatterbrain, 
and to make a blow-up at the post-office about the missing 
letters. This he was the more anxious to do, as the post-office 
was kept by the brother of M'Garry, the apothecary ; and since 
O'Grady had been made to pay so dearly for thrashing him, he 
swore eternal vengeance against the whole family. The post- 
master could give no satisfactory answer to the charge made 
against him, and O'Grady threatened a complaint to head- 
quarters, and prophesied the post-master's dismissal. Satisfied 
for the present with this piece of prospective vengeance, he 
proceeded to the inn, and awaited the arrival of his guest. 

In the interim, at the Hall, Mrs. O'Grady gave Augusta the 
necessary hints, and recommended a short walk to improve her 
colour ; and it was in the execution of this order that Miss 
O'Grady's perambulation was cut short by the pelting her sweet 
brothers gave her. 

The internal bustle of the establishment caught the atten- 
tion of the dowager, who contrived to become acquainted with 
its cause, and set about making herself as fascinating as 
possible ; for though, in the ordinary routine of the family 
affairs, she kept herself generally secluded in her own apart- 
ments, whenever any affair of an interesting nature was pend- 
ing, nothing could make her refrain from joining any company 
which might be in the house ; — nothing ; — not even O'Grady 
himself. At such times, too, she became strangely excited, 
and invariably executed one piece of farcical absurdity, of 
which, however, the family contrived to confine the exercise to 
her own room. It was wearing on her head a tin concern, some- 
thing like a chimney-cowl, ornamented by a small weather- 
cock, after the fashion of those which surmount church- 
itceples ; this, she declared, influenced her health wonderfully, 
hy indicating the variation of the wind in her stomach, which 
she maintained to be the grand ruling principle of human ex- 
istence. iMie would have worn this head-dress in any company, 
had she been permitted, but the terrors of her son had suffi- 
cient influence over her to have this laid aside for a more 
seemly coiffure when she appeared at dinner, or in the 


drawing-room; but while she yielded really through fenr, she 
affected to be influenced through tenderness to her son's 
infirmity of temper. 

" It is very absurd," she would say, "that Gustavus should 
interfere with my toilette ; but, poor fellow, he's very queer, 
you know, and I humour him." 

This at once explains why Master Ratty called the tinker 
" the milliner." 

It will not be wondered at that the family carefully ex- 
cluded the old lady from the knowledge of any exciting sub- 
ject ; but those who know what a talkative race children and 
servants are, will not be surprised that the dowager 
sometimes got scent of proceedings which were meant to be 
kept secret. The pending election, and the approaching visit 
of the candidate, somehow or other, came to her knowledge, 
and of course she put on her tin chimney-pot. Thus attired, 
she sat watching the avenue all day ; and when she saw 
O'Grady return in a handsome travelling carriage with a 
stranger, she was quite happy, and began to attire herself in 
some ancient finery, rather the worse for wear, and which 
might have been interesting to an antiquary. 

The house soon rang with bustle — bells rang, and foot- 
steps rapidly paced passages, and pattered up and down 
stairs. Andy was the nimblest at the hall-door at the first 
summons of the bell ; and, in a livery too short in the 
arms and too wide in the shoulders, he bustled here and 
there, his anxiety to be useful only putting him in every- 
body's way, and ending in getting him a hearty cursing from 

The carriage was unpacked, and letter-boxes, parcels and 
portmanteaus strewed the hall. Andy was desired to carry 
the latter to "the gentleman's room," and, throwing the 
portmanteau over his shoulder, he ran up stairs. It was just 
after the commotion created by the arrival of the Honourable 
Mr. Scatterbrain that Furlong returned to the house, wet and 

He retired to his room to change his clothes, and fancied 
he was now safe from further molestation, with an inward pro- 
testation that the next time the Master O'Gradys caught him 
in their company, they might bless themselves; when he heard 
a loud sound of hustling near his door, and Miss Augusta's 
voice audibly exclaiming, "Behave yourself, Hatty ! — Gusty, 
let me go!" — when, as the words were uttered, the door of his 
room was shoved open, and Miss Augusta thrust in, and the 
door locked outside. 

Furlong had not half his clothes on. Augusta exclaimed. 


" Gracious me!" — first put up her hands to her eyes, and then 
turned her face to the door. 

Furlong hid himself in the bed-curtains, while Ratty, the 
vicious little rascal, with a malicious laugh, said, "Now, 
promise you'll not tell papa, or I'll bring him up here — and 
then, how will you be ? " 

" Ratty, you wretch ! " cried Augusta, kicking at the door, 
"let me out!" 

" Xot a bit, till you promise." 

" Oh, fie, Maste' O'Gwady ! " said Furlong. 

"I'll scream, Ratty, if you don't let me out!" cried 

" If you screech, papa will hear you, and then he'll come 
up and kill that fellow there ! " 

" Oh, don't squeam, Miss O'Gwady ! " said Furlong, very 
vivaciously from the bed-curtains, " Don't squeam, pway ! " 

" I'm not squeamish, sir," said Miss Augusta ; " but it's 
dreadful to be shut up with a man who has no clothes on him. 
Let me out, Ratty — let me out ! " 

" Well, will you tell on us ? " 

" No." 

" Ton your honour ?" 

" Pon my honour, no ! Make haste ! Oh, if papa knew 
of this!" 

Scarcely had the words been uttered, when the heavy 
tramp and gruff voice of O'Grady resounded in the passage, 
and the boys scampered off in a fright, leaving the door 

'■Oh, what will become of me ! " said the poor girl, with the 
extremity of terror in her look — a terror so excessive, that she 
was quite heedless of the dishabille of Furlong, Who jumped 
from the curtains when he heard O'Grady coming. 

" Don't be fwightened, Miss O'Gwady," said Furlong, half 
frightened to death himself. " When we explain the affair — " 

" Explain ! " said the girl, gasping. " Oh, you don't know 
papa ! " 

As she spoke, the heavy tramp ceased at the door — a sharp 
tap succeeded, and Furlong's name was called in the gruff 
voice of the Squire. 

Furlong could scarcely articulate a response. 

" Let me in," said O'Grady. 

" I'm not dwess'd, sir," answered Furlong. 

" No matter." said the Squire ; " you're not a woman." 
Aujusta wrung her hands. 

" I'll be down with you as soon as I'm dwess'd, sir," replied 

166 HANDT AlfDY. 

" I want to speak to you immediately — and here are letters 
for you — open the door." 

Augusta signified by signs to Furlong that resistance would 
be vain ; and hid herself under the bed. 

" Come in, sir," said Furlong, when she was secreted. 

" The door is fastened," said O'Grady. 

" Turn the key, sir," said Furlong. 

O'Grady unlocked the door, and was so inconsistent a 
person, that he never thought of the impossibility of Furlong's 
having locked it, but, in the richest spirit of bulls, asked him 
if he always fastened his door on the outside. Furlong said he 
always did. 

"What's the matter with you ?" inquired O' Grady. " You're 
as white as the sheet there ;" and he pointed to the bed as he 

Furlong grew whiter as he pointed to that quarter 

" What ails you, man ? — Ar'n't you well ? " 

•' Wather fatigued — but I'll be bette' pwesently. What do 
you wish with me, sir ? " 

" Here are letters for you — I want to know what's in them 
— Scatterbrain's come — do you know that ? " 

" No— I did not." 

" Don't stand there in the cold — goon dressing yourself ; 
I'll sit down here till you can open your letters : I want to tell 
you something besides." O'Grady took a chair as he spoke. 

Furlong assumed all the composure he could ; and the 
girl began to hope she should remain undiscovered, and most 
likely she would have been so lucky, had not the Genius of 
Disaster, with aspect malign, waved her sable hand, and called 
her chosen servant Handy Andy to her aid. He, her faithful 
and unfailing minister, obeyed the call, and at that critical 
juncture of time, gave a loud knock at the chamber door. 

"Come in," said O'Grady. 

Andy opened the door and popped in his head. "I beg 
your pardon, sir, but I kem for the jintleman's portmantle." 

"What gentleman ?" asked O'Grady. 

" The Honourable, sir ; I tuk his portmantle to the wrong 
room, sir ; and I'm come for it now, bekase he wants it." 

" There's no po'tmanteau here," said Furlong. 

" O yis, sir," said Andy ; " I put it undher the bed." 

" Well, take it and be off," said O'Grady. 

" No — no — no," said Furlong, " don't distu'b my woom, if 
you please, till I have done dwessing." 

" But the Honourable is dhressing too, sir ; and that's why 
be wants the portmantle." 

" lake it, then," said the Squire. 


Furlong was paralysed, and could offer no further resis- 
tance : Andy stooped, and lifting the valance of the bed to 
withdraw the portmanteau, dropped it suddenly, and exclaimed, 

" What's the matter ?" said the Squire. 

" Nothin', sir," said Andy, looking scared. 

"Then take the portmanteau, and be hanged to you." 

" Oh, I'll wait till the jintleman's done, sir," said Andy, 

" What the devil is all this about," said the Squire, seeing 
the bewilderment of Furlong and Andy. "What is it at 
all ?" and he stooped as he spoke, and lifted the valance. Put 
here description must end, and imagination supply the scene 
of fury and confusion which succeeded. At the first fierce 
volley of imprecation O'Grady gave vent to, Andy ran off and 
alarmed the family, Augusta screamed, and Furlong held for 
support by the bedpost, while, between every hurricane of 
oaths, O'Grady ran to the door, and shouted for his pistols, 
and anon returned to the chamber to vent every abusive 
epithet which could be showered on man and woman. The 
prodigious uproar soon brought the whole house to the spot ; 
Mrs. O'Grady and the two spare girls amongst the first ; Mat, 
and the cook, and the scullion, and all the housemaids in rapid 
succession ; and Scatterbrain himself at last ; O'Grady all the 
time foaming at the mouth, stamping up and down the room, 
shaking his fist at Furlong, and, after a volley of names im- 
possible to remember or print, always concluding with the 
phrase, "Wait till I get my pistols !" 

"Gusty, dear," said his trembling wife, "What is it all 
about ?" 

He glared upon her with his flashing eyes, and said, 
" Fine education you give your children, ma'am. Where have 
you brought up your daughters to go to, eh ?" 

"To church, my dear," said Mrs. O'Grady, meekly; 
for she being a Roman Catholic, O'Grady was very jealous 
of his daughters being reared staunch Protestants, and 
she, poor simple woman, thought that was the drift of his 

" Church, my eye, woman! — Church, indeed ! — 'faith, she 
ought to have gone there before she came where I found her 
Thundera'nouns, where are my pistols ?" 

"Where has she gone to, my love?" asked the wife in a 

" To the divil, ma'am. Is that all you know about it V 
laid O'Grady. " And you wish to know where she is ?" 

" Yes, love," said his wife. 


" Then look under that bed, ma'am, and you'll see her with 
out spectacles." 

Mrs. O'Grady now gave a scream, and the girls and the 
housemaids joined in the chorus. Augusta bellowed from 
under the bed, " Mamma ! mamma ! indeed it's all Ratty — I 
never did it." 

At this moment, to help the confusion, a fresh appearance 
made its way into the room; it was that of the Dowager 
O'Grady — arrayed in all the bygone finery of faded full- 
dress, and the tin chimney-pot on her head. " What is all 
this about ?" she exclaimed, with an air of authority ; " though 
my weathercock tells me the wind is nor'west, I did not ex- 
pect such a storm. Is any one killed ?" 

"No," said O'Grady; "but somebody will be soon. Where 
are my pistols ? Blood and fire ! will nobody bring me my 
pistols ?" 

" Here they are, sir," said Handy Andy, running in. 

O'Grady made a rush for the pistols, but his mother and 
his wife threw themselves before him, and Scatterbrain shoved 
Andy outside the room. 

" Confound you, you numscull ! would you give pistols into 
the hands of a frantic man ?" 

" Sure, he ax'd for them, sir." 

" Go out o' this, you blockhead ! Go and hide them 
somewhere, where your master won't find them." 

Andy retired, muttering something ahout the hardness of 
a servant's case, in being scolded and called names for doing 
his master's bidding. Scatterbrain returned to the room, 
where the confusion was still in full bloom ; O'Grady swearing 
between his mother and wife, while Furlong endeavoured to 
explain how the young lady happened to be in his room ; and 
she kicking in hysterics amidst the maids and her sisters, while 
Scatterbrain ran to and fro between all the parties, giving an 
ear to Furlong, an eye to O'Grady, and smelling salts to his 

The case was a hard one to a milder man than O'Grady — 
his speculation about Scatterbrain all knocked on the head, 
for it could not be expected he would mar-ry the lady who had 
been found under another man's bed. To hush the thing up 
would be impossible, after the publicity his own fury had given 
to the affair. "Would she ever be married after such an 
affair was delate ?" The question rushed into his head on one 
side, and the answer rushed in at the other, and met it with a 
plump " No !" — the question and answer then joined hands in 
O'Grady's mind, and danced down the middle to the tune of 
"Haste to the wedding!" 


" Yes," he said, slapping his forcliead, " she must be mar- 
ried at once." Then, turning to Furlong, he said, "You're 
not married, I hope?" 

Furlong acknowledged he was not, though he regretted the- 
moment he had made the admission. 

'•'Tis well for you," said O' Grady, "for it has saved your 
life. You shall marry her then !" He never thought of ask- 
ing Furlong's acquiescence in the measure. " Come here, you 
'luggage !" he cried to Augusta, as he laid hold of her hand, 
and pulled her up from her chair ; "come here! I intended 
ynu for a better man ; but since you have such a hang-dog 
taste, why, go to him !" And he shoved her over to Furlong. 
"There!" he said, addressing him, " take her, since you will 
have her. We'll speak of her fortune after." 

The poor girl stood abashed, sobbing aloud, and tears pour- 
ing from her downcast eyes. Furlong was so utterly taken by 
surprise, that he was rivetted to the spot where he stood, and 
could not advance a step towards his drooping intended. At 
this awkward moment, the glorious old dowager came to the 
rescue ; she advanced, tin chimney-pot and all, and taking <j 
hand of each of the principals in hers, she joined them toge- 
ther in a theatrical manner, and ejaculated, with a benignant 
air, " Bless you, my children !" 

In the midst of the mingled rage, confusion, fright, and 
astonishment of the various parties present, there was some- 
thing so exquisitely absurd in the old woman's proceeding, 
that nearly every one felt inclined to laugh, but the terror of 
O'Grady kept their risible faculties in check. Fate, however, 
decreed the finale should be comic ; for the cook, suddenly 
recollecting herself, exclaimed, " Oh, murther ! the goose will 
be burned!" and ran out of the room; a smothered burst of 
laughter succeeded, which roused the ire of O'Grady, who, 
making a charge right and left amongst the delinquents, the 
room was soon cleared, and the party dispersed in various 
directions, O'Grady's voice rising loud above the general con • 
fusion, as he swore his way down stairs, kicking his mother's 
tin turban before him. 



Cahvassing before an election resembles skirmishing before 
a battle ; — the skirmishing was over, and the arrival of the 
Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain was like the first gun that 
commences an engagement; — and now both parties were to 
enter on the final struggle. 

A jolly group sat in Murphy's dining parloCT on the eve of 
the day fixed for the nomination. Hitting points of speeches 
were discussed — plans for bringing up voters — tricks to inter- 
rupt the business of the opposite party — certain allusions on 
the hustings that would make the enemy lose temper ; and, 
above all, everything that could cheer and amuse the people, 
and make them rejoice in their cause. 

" Oh, let me alone for that much," said Murtough. " I have 
engaged every piper and fiddler within twenty miles round, 
and divil a screech of a chanter* or a scrape of catgut Scatter- 
brain can have for love or money — that's one grand point." 

" But," said Tom Durfy, " he has engaged the yeomanry 

"What of that?" asked Dick Dawson ;" a band is all very 
well for making a splash in the first procession to the hustings, 
but what good is it in working out the details ?" 

"What do you call details ?" said Durfy. 

" Why, the popular tunes in the public-houses, and in the 
tally-rooms, while the fellows are waiting to go up. Then the 
dances in the evening — Wow ! — won't Scatterbrain's lads look 
mighty shy when they know the Eganites are kicking their 
heels to ' Moll in the Wad,' while they haven't a lilt to shake 
their bones to ?" 

"To be sure," said Murphy; "we'll have the deserters to 
our cause from the enemy's camp before the first night is 
over ;f wait till the girls know where the fiddles are — and won't 
they make the lads join us !" 

" I believe a woman would do a good deal for a dance," 
said Doctor Growling ; " they are immensely fond of saltatory 
motion. I remember, once in my life, I used to flirt with a 
little actress who was a great favourite in a provincial tows 

* The principal tube of a bagpipe. 
f la those times elections often lasted mauy dsyfc 


where I lived, and she was invited to a ball there, and confided 
to me she had no silk stockings to appear in, and without them, 
her presence at the ball was out of the question." 

" That was a hint to you to buy the stockings," said Dick. 

"No — you're out," said Growling. "She knew I was as 
poor as herself; but though she could not rely on my purse, 
she had every confidence in my taste and judgment, and con- 
sulted me on a plan she formed for going to the ball in proper 
twig. Now, what do you think it was?" 

"To go in cotton, I suppose," returned Dick. 

"Out, again, sir — you'd never guess it; and only a woman 
could have hit on the expedient ; it was the fashion in those 
days for ladies in full dress to wear pink stockings, and she 
proposed painting her legs /" 

" Painting her legs !" they all exclaimed. 

" Fact, sir," said the doctor ; " and she relied on me for 
telling her if the cheat was successful — " 

" And was it ?" asked Durfy. 

"Don't be in a hurry, Tom. I complied on one condition — 
namely, that I should be the painter." 

" Oh, you villain !" cried Dick. 

" A capital bargain !" said Tom Durfy. 

" But not a safe covenant," added the attorney. 

" Don't interrupt me, gentlemen," said the doctor. " I got 
some rose-pink accordingly, and I def}' all the hosiers in Not- 
tingham to make a tighter fit then I did on little Jinney ; and 
a prettier pair of stockings I never saw." 

" And she went to the ball ?" said Dick. 


"And the trick succeeded?" added Durfy. 

" So completely," said the doctor, " that several ladies asked 
her to recommend her dyer to them ! So you see what a woman 
will do to go to a dance. Poor little Jinney! — she was a merry 
minx. By the by, she boxed my ears that night, for a joke I 
made about the stockings. ' Jinney,' said I, ' for fear your 
stockings should fall down when you're dancing, hadn't you 
better let me paint a pair of garters on them ?' " 

The fellows laughed at the doctor's quaint conceit about 
the garters, but Murphy called themback to the business of the 

" What next ;" he said,, " public-houses and tally-rooii^. <o 
have pipers and fiddlers-^ <y — and we'll get up as good .. 
march, too, as Scatterbrain, vith all his .yeomanry band ; — 
think a cart-full of fiddlers would have afii^. effect!" 

" If we could only get a double-bass amongst them I" said 

172 HANDY AND2. 

" Talking of double-basses," said the doctor, "did you ever 
hear the story of the sailor in an admiral's ship, -who, when some 
fine concert was to be given on board — " 

"Hang your concerts and stories !" said Murphy; "let us 
go on with the election," 

" Oh, the doctor's story I" cried Tom Durfy and Dick 
Dawson together. 

"Well, sir," continued the doctor, "a sailor was handing in, 
over the side, from a boat which bore the instruments from 
shore, a great lot of fiddles. When some tenors came into his 
hand he said those were real good- sized fiddles ; and when a 
violoncello appeared, Jack, supposing it was to be held between 
the hand and the shoulder, like a violin, declared ' He must 
be a strapping chap that fiddle belonged to !' But when the 
double-bass made its appearance, ' My eyes and limbs !' cried 
Jack, ' I would like to see the chap as plays that ! ! !'" 

" Well, doctor, are you done?" cried Murphy; "for, if you 
are, now for the election. You say, Dick, Major Dawson is to 
propose your brother-in-law ?" 

" Yes." 

"And he'll do it well, too; the Major makes a very good 
straightforward speech." 

"Yes," said Dick; "the old cock is not a bad hand at it 
But I have a suspicion he's going to make a greater oration than 
usual and read some long rigmarolish old records." 

" That will never do," said Murphy ! " as long as a man 
looks Pat in the face, and makes a good rattling speech ' out o' 
the face,' Pat will listen to him ; but when a lad takes to heavy 
readings, Pat grows tired. We must persuade the Major to give 
up the reading." 

" Persuade my father !" cried Dick. "When did you ever 
hear of his giving up his own opinion ?" 

" If he could be prevailed on even to shorten — r ' said 

" Oh, leave him to me," said Dick, laughing ; " I'll take 
sare he'll not read a word." 

" Manage that, Dick, and you're a jewel !" 

" I will," said Dick. " I'll take the glasses out of his 
spectacles the morning of the nomination, and then let him 
read, if he can." 

" Capital, Dick ; and now the next point of discussion is — " 

" Supper, ready to come up, sir," said a servant, opening 
the door. 

" Then, that's the best thing we could discuss, boys," said 
Murphy to his friends — "so up with the supper, Dan. Up witb 

flANDY ANDY. 173 

the supper! Up with the Egans ! Down with the Scatterbraina 
— hurrah ! — we'll beat them gaily/' 

" Hollow .'" said Durfy. 

'•Not hollow," said Dick; "we'll have a tussle for it." 

" So much the better," cried Murphy : " I would not give a 
fig for an easy victory — there's no fun in it. Give me the elec- 
tion that is like a race — now one a-head, and then the other ; 
the closeness calling out all the energiei of both parties — de- 
veloping their tact and invention, and at .ast, the return secured 
by a large majority." 

" But think of the glory of a large one," said Dick. 

"Ay," added Durfy, ""besides crushing the hope of a peti- 
tion on the part of your enemy to pull down the majority." 

"But think of Murphy's enjoyment," said the doctor, "in 
defending the seat, to say nothing of the bill of costs." 

" You have me there, doctor," said Murphy ; " a fair hit ; I 
grant you ; but see, the supper is on the table. To it, my 
lads ; to it ! and then a jolly glass to drink success to our friend 

And glass after glass they did drink in all sorts and shapes 
of well-wishing toasts; in short, to have seen the deep interest 
thiise men took in the success of their friend, might have glad- 
dened the heart of a philanthropist; though there is no 
knowing what Father Mathew, had he flourished in those 
times, might have said to their overflowing benevolence. 


The morning of nomination which dawned on Neck-or- 
nothing Hall saw a motley group of O'Grady's retainers assem- 
bling in the stable-yard, and the out-offices rang to laugh and 
joke over a rude but plentiful breakfast — tea and coffee, 
there, had no place — but meat, potatoes, milk, beer, and 
whisky, were at the option of the body-guard, which was 
selected for the honour of escorting the wild chief and his 
friend, the candidate, into the town. Of this party was the 
yeomanry-band of which Tom Durfy spoke, though, to say the 
truth, considering Tom's apprehensions on the subject, it was 
of slender force. One trumpet, one clarionet, a fife, a big 
drum, and a pair of cymbals, with a " real nigger" to play them, 
were all they could muster. 

After clearing off everything in the slmpe of brenkfnst, the 


" musicianers" amused the retainers, from time to time, with a 
tune on the clarionet, fife, or trumpet, while they waited the 
appearance of the party from the house. Uproarious mirth 
and noisy joking rang round the dwelling, to which none con- 
tributed more largely than the trumpeter, who fancied himself 
an immensely clever fellow, and had a heap of cut-and-dry 
jokes at his command, and practical drolleries in which he in- 
dulged to the great entertainment of all, but of none more than 
Andy, who was in the thick of the row, and in a divided 
ecstacy between the " hlaliy -moor's " turban and cymbals, and 
the trumpeter's jokes and music ; the latter articles having a 
certain resemblance, by the bye, to the former in clumsiness 
and noise, and therefore suited to Andy's taste. Whenever 
occasion offered, Andy got near the big drum, too, and gave it 
a thump, delighted with the result, of his ambitious achieve- 

Andy was not lost on the trumpeter: "Arrah, maybe 
you'd like to have a touch at these?" said the joker, holding 
up the cymbals. 

" Is it hard to play them, sir ?" inquired Andy. 

" Hard !" said the trumpeter ; " sure they're not hard at 
all — but as soft and smooth as satin inside — just feel them — 
rub your fingers inside." 

Andy obeyed ; and his finger was chopped between the two 
brazen plates. Andy roared, the bystanders laughed, and the 
trumpeter triumphed in his wit. Sometimes he would come 
behind an unsuspecting boor, and give, close to his ear, a dis- 
cordant bray from his trumpet, like the note of a jackass, 
which made Mm jump, and the crowd roar with merriment ; 
or, perhaps, when the clarionet or the fife was engaged in giving 
the people a tune, he would drown either, or both of them, in 
a wild yell of his instrument. As they could not make repri- 
sals upon him, he had his own way in playing whatever he liked 
for his audience ; and in doing so indulged in all the airs of a 
; great artist — pulling out one crook from another — blowing 
through them softly, and shaking the moisture from them in a 
tasty style — arranging them with a fastidious nicety — then, 
1 after the final adjustment of the mouth-piece, lipping the 
instrument with an affectation exquisitely grotesque ; but before 
he began he always asked for another drink. 

" It's not for myself," hewould say, "but for the thrumpet, 
the crayther ; the divil a note she can blow without a dhrop." 

Then, taking a mug of drink, he would present it to the 
bell of the trumpet, and afterwards transfer it to his own lips, 
always bowing to the instrument first, and saying, "Your 
health, ma'am!" 


This was another piece of delight to the mob, and Andy 
thought him the funniest fellow he ever met, though he did 
chop his finger. 

"Faix, sir, an' it is dhry work, I'm sure, playing the 

" Dhry!" said the trumpeter, "*pon my ruffles and tuckers 
— and that's a cambric oath — it's worse nor lime burnin', so it 
is — it makes a man's throat as parched as pays." 

" Who dar says pays ?" cried the drummer. 

"Howld your prate!" said the trumpeter, elegantly, and 
silenced all reply by playing a tune. As soon as it was ended, 
he turned to Andy and asked for a cork. 

Andy gave it to him. 

The man of jokes affected to put it into the trumpet. 

" What's that for, sir ?" asked Andy. 

" To bottle up the music," said the trumpeter — " sure all 
the music would run about the place if I didn't do that." 

Andy gave a vague sort of " ha, ha !" as if he were net 
quite sure whether the trumpeter was in jest or earnest, and 
thought at the moment that to play the trumpet and practical 
jokes must be the happiest life in the world. Filled with this 
idea, Andy was on the watch how he could possess himself of 
the trumpet, for could he get one blast on it, he would be 
happy : a chance at last opened to him ; after some time, the 
lively owner of the treasure laid down his instrument to 
handle a handsome blackthorn which one of the retainers was 
displaying, and he made some flourishes with the weapon to 
show that music was not his only accomplishment. Andy 
seized the opportunity and the trumpet, and made off to one 
of the sheds where they had been regaling; and, shutting the 
door to secure himself from observation, he put the trumpet, to 
his mouth and distended his cheeks near to bursting with the 
violence of his efforts to produce a sound ; but all his puffing 
was unavailing for some minutes. At last faint cracked 
squeak answered a more desperate blast than before, and Andy 
was delighted. " Everything must have a beginning," thought 
Andy, " and maybe I'll get a tunc out of it yet." He tried 
again, and increased in power;" for a sort of strangled screech 
was the result. Andy was in ecstacy, and began to indulge 
visions of being one day a trumpeter ; he strutted up and down 
the shed like the original he so envied, and repeated some of 
ihe drolleries he heard him utter. He also imitated his actions 
of giving a drink to the trumpet, and was more generous to the 
instrument than the owner, for he really poured about half a 
pint of beer down its throat : he then drank its health, and 
finished by " bottling up the music," absolutely cramming a 


cork into the trumpet. Now Andy, having no idea (he trum- 
peter made a sham of the action, made a vigorous plunge of a 
goodly cork into the throat of the instrument, and, in so doing, 
the cork went farther than he intended: he tried to withdraw 
it, but his clumsy fingers, instead of extracting only drove it in 
deeper — he became alarm-ed — and, seizing a fork, strove with 
its assistance to remedy the mischief he had done, but the more 
he poked, the worse ; and, in his fright, he thought the safest 
thing he could do was to cram the cork out of sight altogether, 
and having soon done that, he returned to the yard, and laid 
down the trumpet unobserved. 

Immediately after, the procession to the town started. 
J)'Grady gave orders that the party should not be throwing 
away their powder and shot, as he called it, in untimely huzzas 
and premature music. " Wait till you come to the town, 
boys ;" said he, " and then you may smash away as hard as you 
can ; blow your heads off and split the sky." 

The party of Merryvale was in motion for the place of 
action about the same time, and a merrier pack of rascals never 
was on the march. Murphy, in accordance with his precon- 
ceived notion of a " fine effect," had literally " a cart fu>L of 
fiddlers ;" but the fiddlers hadn't it all to themselves, for there 
was another cart full of pipers ; and, by way of mockery to the 
grandeur of Scatterbrain's band, he had four or five boys with 
gridirons, which they played upon with pokers, and half a. 
dozen strapping fellows carrying large iron tea-trays, which 
they whopped after the manner of a Chinese gong. 

It so happened that the two roads from Merryvale and 
N"eck-or-nothing Hall met at an acute angle, at the same end 
of the town, and it chanced that the rival candidates and their 
retinues arrived at this point about the same time. 

" There they are !" said Murphy, who presided in the cart 
full of fiddlers like a leader in an orchestra, with as hillelah for 
his baton, which he flourished over his head as he shouted, 
"Now give it to them, your sowls ! — rasp and lilt away, 
boys ! — slate the gridirons, Mike ! — smaddher the tay-tray, 
Tom !" 

The uproar of strange sounds that followed, shouting in- 
cluded, maybe easier imagined than described; and O'Grady, 
answering the war-cry, sung out to his baud— "What are you 
at, you lazy rascals ? — don't you hear them blackguards begin- 
ning ? — fire away, and be hanged to you !" His rascals shouted, 
bang went the drum, and clang went the cymbals, the clarionet 
squeaked, and the fife tootled, but the trumpet — ah! — the 
trumpet — their great reliance — where was the trumpet, 
O'Grady inquired in the precise words, with a diabolical addi- 


tion of Lis own. " Where the d is the trumpet?" 3aid he; 

he looked over the side of the carriage as he spoke, and saw 
the trumpeter spitting out a mouthful of beer which had run 
from the instrument as he lifted it to his mouth. 

" Bad luck to you, what are you wasting your time there 
for?" thundered O'Grady in a rage; "why didn't you spit out 
when you were young, and you'd be a clean old man ? Blow 
and be d — to you!" 

The trumpeter filled his lungs for a great blast, and put the 
trumpet to his lips— but in vain ; Andy had bottled his music 
for him. O'Grady, seeing the inflated cheeks and protruding 
eyes of the musician, whose visage was crimson with exertion, 
and yet no sound produced, thought the fellow was practising 
one of his jokes upon him, and became excessively indignant ; 
he thundered anathemas at him, but his voice was drowned in 
the din of the drum and cymbals, which were plied so vigor- 
ously, that the clarionet and fife shared the same fate as 
O'Grady's voice. The trumpeter could judge of O'Grady's 
rage from the fierceness of his actions only, and answered him 
in pantomimic expression, holding up his trumpet and pointing 
into the bell, with a grin of vexation on his phiz, meant to ex- 
press something was wrong ; but this was all mistaken by the 
tierce O'Grady, who only saw in the trumpeter's grins the inso- 
lent intention of gibing him. 

" Blow, you blackguard, blow !" shouted the Squire. 

Bang went the drum. 

" Blow — or I'll break your neck !" 

Crash went the cymbals. 

" Stop your banging there, you ruffians, and let me be 
heard!" roared the excited man; but as he was standing up 
on the seat of the carriage, and flung his arms about wildly as 
he spoke, the drummer thought his action was meant to stimu- 
late him to further exertion, and he banged away louder 
than before. 

" By the hokey, I'll murder some o' ye !" shouted the 
Squire, who, ordering the carriage to pull up, flung open the 
door and jumped out, made a rush at the drummer, seized his 
principal drumstick, and giving him a bang over the head with 
it, cursed him for a rascal for not stopping when he told him ; 
this silenced all the instruments together, and O'Grady seizing 
the trumpeter by the back of the neck, shook him violently, 
while he denounced with fierce imprecations his insolence in 
daring to practise a joke on him. The trumpeter protested 
his innocence, and O'Grady called him a lying rascal, finishing 
his abuse by clenching his fist in a menacing attitude, and 
telling him to play 


" I can't, yer honour !" 

" You lie, you scoundrel." 

4 There's something in the trumpet, sir." 

" Yes, there's music in it ; and if you don't blow it ou< of it — " 

" I can't blow it out of it, sir." 

" Hold your prate, you ruffian ; blow this minute." 

"Arrah, thry it yourself, sir," said the frightened man, 
handing the instrument to the Squire. 

" D — n your impudence, you rascal ; do you think I'd blow 
anything that was in your dirty mouth ; blow, I tell you, or 
it will be worse for you." 

" By the vartue o' my oath, your honour — " 

"Blow, I tell you!" 

" By the seven blessed candles — " 

"Blow, I tell you!" 

" The trumpet is choked, sir." 

" There will be a trumpeter choked, soon," said O'Grady, 
gripping him by the" neck -handkerchief, with his knuckles 
ready to twist into his throat. " By this and that I'll strangle 
you, if you don't play this minute, you humbugger." 

"By the Blessed Virgin, I'm not humbiggin' your honour;" 
stammered tbetrumpeter with the little breath O'Grady left him. 

Scatterbrain, seeing O'Grady's fury, and fearful of its con- 
sequences, had alighted from the carriage and came to the 
rescue, suggesting to the infuriated Squire, that what the man 
said might be true. O'Grady said he knew better, that the 
blackguard was a notorious joker, and having indulged in a 
jest in the first instance, was now only lying to save himself 
from punishment ; furthermore, swearing that if he did not 
play that minute he'd throw him into the ditch. 

With great difficulty O'Grady was prevailed upon to give 
up the gripe of the trumpeter's throat ; and the poor breath- 
less wretch, handing the instrument to the clarionet-player 
appealed to him if it were possible to play on it. Theclarionet- 
player said he could not tell, for he did not understand the 

" You see there!" cried O'Grady. " You see he's humbug- 
ging, and the clarionet-player is an honest man." 

"An honest man!" exclaimed the trumpeter, turning 
fiercely on the clarionet-player. " He's the biggest villain 
unhanged for sthrivin' to get me murthered, and refusin' (ha 
evidence for me !" The man's eyes flashed fury as he spoke 
and throwing his trumpet down, " Mooney ! — by j altera, you're 
no man !" — Clenching his fists as he spoke, he made a rush o;: 
the clarionet-player, and planted a hit on his mouth with such 
vigour, that he rolled in the dust; and when he rose, it was 


with such an upper lip that his clarionet-playing was evidently 
finished for the next week certainly. 

Now the fifer was the clarionet-player's brother ! and he, 
turning on the trumpeter, roared — 

"Bad luck to you! — you did not sthrek him fair !" 

But while in the very act of reprobating the foul blow,helet 
fly under the ear of the trumpeter, who was quite unprepared 
for it, — and ho, too, measured his length on the road. On 
recovering his legs he rushed on the fifer for revenge, and a 
regular scuffle ensued among " the musicianers," to the great 
delight of the crowd of retainers, who were so well primed 
with whisky that a fight was just the thing to their taste. 

In vain O'Grady swore at them, and went amongst them, 
striving to restore order, but they would not be quiet till 
several black eyes and damaged noses bore evidence of a busy 
five minutes having passed. In the course of "the scrimmage" 
Fate was unkind to the fifer, whose mouth-piece was consider- 
ably impaired ; and " the boys" remarked, that the worse stick 
you could have in a crowd was a "whistling stick" by which 
name t'hey designated the fifer's instrument. 

At last, however, peace was restored, and the trumpeter 
again ordered to play by O'Grady. 

He protested, again, it was impossible. 

The fifer, in revenge, declared he was only humbugging 
the Squire. 

Hereupon O'Grady seizing the unfortunate trumpeter gave 
him a more sublime kicking than ever fell to the lot of even 
piper or fiddler, whose pay* is proverbially oftener in that 
article than the coin of the realm. 

Having tired himself, and considerably rubbed down the 
toe of his boot with his gentlemanly exercise, O'Grady dragged 
the trumpeter to the ditch, and rolled him into it, there to 
cool the fever which burned in his seat of honour. 

O'Grady then re-entered the carriage with Scatterbrain, 
and the party proceeded ; but the clarionet-player could not 
blow a note; the fifer was not in good playing condition, and 
tootled with some difficulty ; the drummer was obliged now 
and then to relax his efforts in making a noise that he might 
lift his right arm to his nose, which had got damaged in the 
fray, and the process of wiping his face with his cuff changed 
the white facings of his jacket to red. The negro cymbal- 
player was the only one whose damages were not to be ascer- 
tained, as a black eye would not tell on him, and his lips could 
net be more swollen than nature had made them. On the 

* Fiddlers' fare, or pipers' pay— more kicks than halfpence. 



procession -went, however ; but the rival mob, tne Eganitea, 
profitting by the delay caused by the row, got a-head, and 
entered the town first, with their pipers and fiddlers, hurrahing 
their way in. good humour down the street, and occupying 
the best places in the court-house before _, the arrival of the 
opposite party, whose band, instead of being a source of triumph, 
was only a thing of jeering merriment to the Eganites, who 
received them with mockery and laughter. All this by no 
means sweetened O'Grady's temper, who looked thunder as 
he entered the court-house with his candidate, who was, 
though a good-humoured fellow, a little put out by the acci- 
dents of the morning ; and Furlong looked more sheepish than 
ever, as he followed his leaders. 

The business of the day was opened by the high-sheriff 
and Major Dawson lost no time in rising to propose, that 
Edward Egan, Esquire, of M%rryvale, was a fit and proper 
person to represent the county in parliament. 

The proposition was received with cheers by "the boys" in 
the body of the court-house; the Major proceeded, full sail, in 
his speech — his course aided by being on the popular current, 
and the "sweet-voices " of the nraltitude blowing in his favour. 
On concluding (as " the boys" thought) his address, which was 
straightforward and to the point, a voice in the crowd pro- 
posed, " Three cheers for the owld Major." Three deafening 
peals followed the hint. 

" And now," said the Major, " I will read a few extracts 
here from some documents, in support of what I have had the 
honour of addressing to you." And he pulled out a bundle of 
papers as he spoke, and laid them down before him. 

The movement was not favoured by " the boys," as it indi- 
cated a tedious reference to facts by no means to their taste, and 
the same voice that suggested the three cheers, now sung out — 

"Never mind, Major — sure we'll take your word for it !" 

Cries of "Order!" and "Silence!" ensued; and were fol- 
lowed by murmurs, coughs, and sneezes, in the crowd, with a 
considerable shuffling of hobnailed shoes on the pavement. 

" Order ! " cried a voice in authority. 

"Order anything you plaze, sir!" said the voice in the 

" Whisky ! " cried one. 

" Porther ! " cried another. 

"Tabakky ! " roared a third. 

" I must insist on silence! " cried the sheriff, in a very husky 
voice. " Silence ! — or I'll have the court-house cleared." 

" Faith, if you cleared your own throat it would be better," 
said the wag in the crowd. 


A laug:L followed. The sheriff felt the hit, and was silent. 

The Major all this time had been adjusting his spectacles on 
oie nose, unconscious, poor old gentleman, that Dick, according 
to promise, had abstracted the glasses from them that morning. 
He took up his documents to read, made sundry wry faces, 
turned the papers up to the light, — now on this side, and now 
on that, — but could make out' nothing; while Dick gave a 
knowing wink at Murphy. The old gentleman took off his 
Hjucticles to wipe the glasses. 

The voice in the crowd cried, "Thank you, Major." 

The Major pulled out his handkerchief, and his fingers met 
where he expected to find a lens : — he looked very angry, cast 
a suspicious glance at Dick, who met it with the composure of 
s.n anchorite, and quietly asked what was the matter. 

"I shall not trouble you, gentlemen, with the extracts," 
-.-lid the Major. 

" Hear, hear," responded the genteel part of the auditory. 

"I tould you we'd take your word, Major," cried the voice 
.n the crowd. 

Egan's seconder followed the Major, and the crowd shouted 
again. O'Grady now came forward to propose the Honourable 
Sackville Scatterbrain, as a fit and proper person to represent 
the county in parliament. He was received by his own set of 
vagabonds with uproarious cheers, and " O'Grady for ever ! " 
made the walls ring. "Egan for ever!" and hurras, were 
returned from the Merryvalians. O'Grady thus commenced 
his address : — 

" In coming forward to support my honourable friend, the 
Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain, it is from the conviction — 
the conviction" — 

' : Who got the conviction agen the potteen last sishin?" said 
the voice in the crowd. 

Loud groans followed this allusion to the prosecution of a 
few little private stills, in which O'Grady had shown some un- 
necessary severity that made him unpopular. Cries of " Order ! " 
and " Silence ! " ensued. 

" I say the conviction," repeated O'Grady fiercely, looking 
towards the quarter whence the interruption took place, — " and 
if there is any blackguard here who dares to interrupt me, I'll 
order him to be taken out by the ears. I say, I propose my 
honourable friend, the Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain, from 
the conviction that there is a necessity in this county — " 

" Faith, there is plenty of necessity," said the tormentor in 
the crowd. 

"Take that man out," said the sheriff. 
Don't hurry yourself, sir," returned the delinquent, amidst 


the laughter of " the boys," in proportion to whose merriment 
rose O'Grady's ill humour. 

" I say there is a necessity for a vigorous member to repre- 
sent this countj' in parliament, and support the laws, the con- 
stitution, the crown, and the — the— interests of the county!" 

"Who made the new road?" was a question that now arose 

om the crowd — a laugh followed : — and some groans at this 

usion to a bit of jobbing on the part of O'Grady, who got a 

and jury presentment to make a road which served nobody's 

i.terest but his own. 

" The frequent interruptions I meet here from the lawless 
and disaffected, show too plainly that we stand in need of men 
who will support the arm of the law in purging the country." 

" Who killed the 'pothecary 1 " said a fellow, in a voice so 
deep as seemed fit only to issue from the jaws of death. 

The question, and the extraordinary voice in which it was 
uttered, produced one of those roars of laughter which some- 
times shake public meetings in Ireland; and O'Grady grew 

"If I knew who that gentleman was, I'd pay him!" 
said he. 

" You'd better pay them you know" was the answer ; and 
this allusion to O'Grady's notorious character of a bad payer, 
was relished by the crowd, and again raised the laugh against 

"Sir," said O'Grady, addressing the sheriff, "I hold thia 
ruffianism in contempt. I treat it, and the authors of it, those 
who no doubt have instructed them, with contempt." He 
looked over to where Egan and his friends stood, as he spoke of 
the crowd having had instruction to interrupt him. 

" If you mean, sir," said Egan, "that I have given any such 
instructions, I deny, in the most unqualified terms, the truth of 
such an assertion." 

"Keep yourself cool, Ned," said Dick Dawson, close to 
Lis ear. 

"Never fear me," said Egan; "but I won't let him 

The two former friends now exchanged rather fierce looks 
at each other. 

" Then why am I interrupted ?" asked O'Grady. 

" It is no business of mine to answer that," replied Egan J 
' but I repeat the unqualified denial of your assertion." 

The crowd ceased its noise when the two Squires were seen 
engaged in exchanging smart words, in the hopes of catching 
what they said. 

" It is a disgraceful uproar/' aaid the sheriff. 


" Then it is your business, Mister Sneriff," returned Egan, 
'to suppress it — not mine; they are quiet enough now." 

"Yes, but they'll make a wow again," said Furlong, "when 
Afiste' O'G wady begins."' 

" You seem to know all about it," said Dick ; " maybe you 
nave instructed them." 

" No, sir, I didn't instwuct them," said Furlong, very angry 
it being twitted by Dick. 

Dick laughed in his face, and said " Maybe that's some of 
your electioneering tactics — eh?" 

Furlong got very angry, while Dick and Murphy shouted 
with laughter at him — " No, sir," said Furlong, "I don't welish 
the pwactice of such di'ty twicks." 

" Do you apply the word ' dirty ' to me, sir ?" said Dick the 
Devi!, ruffling up like a game-cock. — " I'll tell you what sir, if 
you make use of the word ' dirty ' again, I'd think very little of 
kicking you — ay, or eight like you — I'll kick eight Furlongs 
one mile." 

"Who's talking of kicking?" asked O'Grady. 

" I am ;" said Dick, " do you want any?" 

"Gentlemen! gentlemen 1" cried the sheriff, "order! pray 
order ! do proceed with the business of the day." 

"I'll talk to you after about this!" said O'Grady, in a 
threatening tone. 

"Tery well," said Dick "we've time enough, the day's 
young yet." 

O'Grady then proceeded to find fault with Egan, censuring 
his politics, and endeavouring to justify his defection from the 
same cause. He concluded thus : " Sir, I shall pursue my 
sourse of duty ; I have chalked out my own line of conduct, sir, 
mi I am convinced no other line is the right line. Our oppo- 
nents are wrong, sir — totally wrong — all wrong ; and, as I have 
said, I have chalked out my own line sir, and I propose the 
Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain as a fit and proper person to 
sit in parliament for the representation of this county." 

The O'Gradyites shouted as their chief concluded ; and the 
Merryvalians returned some groans, and a cry of " Go home, 
turncoat 1 " 

Egan now presented himself, and was received with deafen- 
ing and long-continued cheers, for he was really beloved by the 
people at large ; his frank and easy nature, the amiable charac- 
ter he bore in all his social relations, the merciful and concilia- 
tory tendency of his decisions and conduct as a magistrate, won 
him the sohd respect as well as affection of the country. 

He had been for some days in low spirits in consequence oi 
Larry Hogan's visit and mysterious communication with him; 


but this, its cause, was unknown to all but himself, and tner& 
fore more difficult to support ; for none but those whom sad ex- 
perience has taught can tell the agony of enduring in secret and 
in silence the pang that gnaws a proud heart, which, Spartah 
like, will let the tooth destroy, without complaint or murmur. 

His depression, however, was apparent, and Dick told Mur- 
phy he feared Ned would not be up to the mark at the election ; 
but Murphy, with a better knowledge of human nature, and 
the excitement of such a cause, said, "Never fear him — am 
bition is a long spur, my boy, and will stir the blood of a thicker- 
skinned fellow than your brother-in-law. When he comes to 
stand up and assert his claims before the world, he'll be all 

Murphy was a true prophet, for Egan presented himself 
with confidence, brightness, and good-humour on his open 

"The first thing I have to ask of you, boys," said Egan, 
addressing the assembled throng, "is a fair hearing for the 
other candidate." 

" Hear, hear," followed from the gentlemen in the gallery. 

" And, as he's a stranger amongst us, let him have the privi- 
lege of first addressing you." 

With these words he bowed courteously to Scatterbrain, who 
thanked him very much like a gentleman, and accepting his 
offer, advanced to address the electors. O'Grady waved his 
hand in signal to his bodyguard, and Scatterbrain had three 
cheers from the ragamuffins. 

He was no great things of a speaker, but he was a good- 
humoured fellow, and this won on the Paddies ; and although 
coming before them under the disadvantage of being proposed 
by O'Grady, they heard him with good temper: — to this, how- 
ever, Egan's good word considerably contributed. 

He went very much over the ground his proposer had taken, 
so that, bating the bad temper, the pith of his speech was much 
the same, quite as much deprecating the political views of his 
opponent, and harping on O'Grady's worn-out catch- word of 
" Having chalked out a line for himself," &c. &c. &c. 

Egan now stood forward, and was greeted with fresh cheers. 
He began in a very Irish fashion ; for, being an unaffected, 
frank, and free-hearted fellow himself, he knew how to touch 
the feelings of those who possess such qualities. He waited till 
the last echo of the uproarious greeting died away, and the first 
simple words he uttered were— 

" Here I am, boys ! " 

Simple as these words were, they produced "one cheer 


" Heiv 1 am, boys — ///,' same J ever Teas.' 7 

" Loud huzzas,"' and " Long life to you ! " answered the last 
pithy words, which were wore ones to (J'Grady ; who, as a re- 
negade, felt the hit. 

" Fellow couutrymen, I come forward to represent you, and, 
however I may he unequal to that task, at least, I will never 
Misrepresent you." 

Another cheer followed. 

li My past life is evidence enough on that point ; God forbid 
I were of the mongrel breed of Irishmen, who speak ill of their 
own country. I never did it, boys, and I never will! Some 
think they get on by it, and so they do, indeed ; — they get on 
as sweeps and shoe-blacks get on — they drive a dirty trade and 
Unci employment ; — but are they respected?" 

Shouts "of "No!— no!" 

"You're right! — No! — they are not respected — even by 
their very employers. Your political sweep and shoe- black is 
no more respected than he who cleans our chimneys or cleans 
our shoes. The honourable gentleman who has addressed you 
last, confesses he is a stranger amongst you ; and is he, a 
stranger, to be your representative ? You may be civil to & 
stranger — it is a pleasing duty ; but he is not the man to whom 
you would give your confidence. You might share a hearty 
gla?s with a stranger, but you would not enter into a joint lease 
of a farm without knowing a little more of him ; and if you 
would not trust a single farm with a stranger, will you give a 
whole county into his hands ? When a stranger comes to these 
parts, I'm sure he'll get a civil answer from every man I see 
here, — he will get a civil ' yes,' or a civil ' no,' to his questions 
— and if he seeks his way, you will show him his road. As to 
the honourable gentleman who has done you the favour to come 
and ask y r ou civilly, will y r ou give him the county, you as 
civilly may answer ' No,' and show him his road home again. 
("So wewill"). As for the gentleman who proposed him, he has 
chosen to make certain strictures upon my views, and opinions, 
and conduct. As for views — there was a certain heathen god 
the Romans worshipped, called Janus ; he was a fellow with 
two heads — and by the bye, boy r s, he would have been just the 
fellow to live amongst us ; for when one of his heads was 
broken, he would have had the other for use. Well, this Janus 
was called ' double-face,' and could see before .and behind him. 
Now, I'm no double-face, boys ; and as for seeing before and 
behind me, I can look back on the past, and forward to the 
future, and both the roads are straight ones. (Cheers.) I wish 
every one could say as much. As for my opinions, all I shall 


386 H41MDY VNT1T. 

say is, I never changed mine ; Mister O'Grady can't say as 

" Sure there's a weathercock in the family," said the voice 
in the crowd. 

A loud laugh followed this sally, for the old dowager's 
eccentricity was not quite a secret. O'Grady looked as if he 
could have eaten the whole crowd at a mouthful. 

" Much has been said," continued Egan, " about gentlemen 
chalking out lines for themselves : — now, the plain English of 
this determined chalking of their own line, is rubbing out every 
other maris line. (Bravo.) Some of these chalking gentlemen 
have lines chalked up against them, and might find it difficult 
to pay the score if they were called to account. To such — rub- 
bing out other men's lines, and their own, too, may be con- 
venient ; but I don't like the practice. Boys, I have no more 
to say than this, We know and can trust each other ! " 

Egan's address was received with acclamation, and when 
silence was restored, the sheriff demanded a show of hands ; 
and a very fine show of hands there was, and every hand had a 
sticlc in it. 

The show of hands was declared to be in favour of Egan, 
whereupon a poll was demanded on the part of Scatterbrain, 
after which every one began to move from the court-house. 

O'Grady, in very ill-humour, was endeavouring to shove 
past a herculean fellow, rather ragged, and very saucy, who did 
not seem inclined to give place to the savage elbowing of the 

" What brings such a ragged rascal as j'ou here ? '' said 
O'Grady, brutally ; " you're not an elector.'' 

" Yis, I am ! '' replied the fellow, sturdily. 

" Why, you can't have a lease, you beggar.'' 

" No, but maybe I have an article.*" 

" What is your article? " 

"What is it?" retorted the fellow, with a fierce look at 
O'Grady. " Faith, it's a fine brass blunderbuss ; and I'd like 
to see the man would dispute the title." 

O'Grady bad met his master, and could not reply; the 
crowd shouted for the ragamuffin, and all parties separated, to 
gird up their loins for the next day's poll. 

* A name given to a written engagement between landlord and 
tenant, promising to grant a lease, on which registration is allowed fo> 

«AHDY ANDT. 187 


Aster the angry words exchanged at the nomination, the 
most peaceable reader must have anticipated the probability of a 
duel ; — but when the inflammable stuff of which Irishmen are 
made is considered, together with the excitement and pug- 
nacious spirit attendant upon elections in all places, the 
certainty of a hostile meeting must have been apparent. The 
sheriff might have put the gentlemen under arrest, it is true, 
but that officer was a weak, thoughtless, irresolute person, and 
took no such precaution ; though, to do the poor man justice, 
it is only fair to say that such an intervention of authority at 
such a time and place would be considered on all hands as a 
very impertinent, unjustifiable, and discourteous interference 
with the private pleasures and privileges of gentlemen. 

Dick Dawson had a message conveyed to him from O'Grady, 
requesting the honour of his company the next morning 
to " grass before breakfast ! " to which, of course, Dick 
returned an answer expressive of the utmost readiness to oblige 
the Squire with his presence ; and, as the business of the elec- 
tion was of importance, it was agreed they should meet at a 
given spot on the way to the town, and so lose as little time as 

The next morning, accordingly, the parties met at the 
appointed place, Dick attended by Edward O'Connor, and 
Egan — the former in capacity of his friend ; and O'Grady, 
with Scatterbrain for his second, and Furlong a looker-on: 
there were some straggling spectators besides, to witness the 

" O'Grady looks savage, Dick," said Edward. 

" Yes," answered Dick, with a smile of as much unconcern 
as if he were going to lead off a country dance. " He looks as 
pleasant as a bull in a pound." 

" Take care of yourself, my dear Dick," said Edward 

" My dear boy, don't make yourself uneasy," replied Dick, 
laughing. " I'll bet you two to one he misses me." 

Edward made no reply, but to his sensitive and more 
thoughtful nature, betting at such a moment savoured too much 
of levity, so, leaving his friend, he advanced to Scatterbrain, 
%nd they commenced making the preliminary preparations. 


During- tne period which this required O'Grady was look- 
ing 1 down sulkily or looking - up fiercely, and striking his heel 
with vehemence into the sod, while Dick Dawson was whistling 
a planxty and eyeing his man. 

The arrangements were soon made, the men placed on their 
ground, and Dick saw by the intent look with which O'Grady 
marked him, that he meant mischief ; they were handed their 
pistols — the seconds retired — the word was given, and as 
O'Grady raised his pistol, Dick saw he was completely covered 
and suddenly exclaimed, throwing up bis arm, " I beg your 
pardon for a moment." 

O'Grady involuntarily lowered his weapon, and seeing 
Dick standing perfectly erect, and nothing following his 
Budden request for this suspension of hostilities, asked in a 
very angry tone, why he had interrupted him. " Because I 
saw you had me covered," said Dick, " and you'd have hit 
me if you had fired that time : now fire away as soon as you 
like ! " added he, at the same moment rapidly bringing up his 
own pistol to the level. 

O'Grady was taken by surprise, and fancying Dick was 
going to blaze at him, fired, hastily, and missed his adversary. 

Dick made him a low bow, and fired in the air. 

O'Grady wanted -another shot, saying Dawson had tricked 
him, but Scatterbrain felt the propriety of Edward O'Connor's 
objection to further fighting, after Dawson receiving O'Grady'a 
fire ; so the gentlemen were removed from the ground and the 
affair terminated. 

O'Grady, having fully intended to pink Dick, was exces- 
sively savage at being overreached, and went cff to the election 
vVith a temper by no means sweetened by the morning's adven- 
ture, while Dick roared with laughing, exclaiming at intervals 
to Edward O'Connor, as he was putting up his pistols, " Did 
net I do him neatly 1 " 

Off they cantered gaily to the high road, exchanging 
merry and cheering salutations with the electors, who were 
thronging towards the town in great numbers and all variety 
of manner, group, and costume. Some on foot, some on horse- 
back, and some on cars ; the gayest show of holiday attire 
contrasting with the every-day rags of wretchedness; the 
fresh cheek of health and beauty making gaunt misery look 
more appalling, and the elastic step of vigorous youth out- 
stripping the tardy pace of feeble age. Pedestrians were 
hurrying on in detachments of five or six — the equestrians in 
companies les3 numerous ; sometimes the cavalier who could 
boast a saddle carrying a woman on a pillion behind him. But 
saddle or pillion were not an indispensable accompaniment to 


this equescrian duo, for many a " bare-back " garran carried 
his couple, his only harness being a halter made of a hay-rope, 
which in time of need sometimes proves a substitute for " rack 
and manger," for it is not uncommon in Ireland to see the 
qarran nibbling the end of his bridle when opportunity offers. 
The cars were in great variety : some bore small kishes,* in 
which a woman and some children might be seen — others hnd 
a shake-down of clean straw to serve for cushions ; while the 
better sort spread a feather-bed for greater comfort, covered 
by a patchwork quilt, the work of the ■" good woman " herself, 
whose own quilted petticoat vied in brightness with the calico 
roses on which she was sitting. The most luxurious indulged 
still further in some arched branches of hazel, which, bent 
above the car in the fashion of a booth, bore another coverlid, 
by way of awning, and served for protection against the 
weather ; but few there Were who could indulge in such a 
luxury as this of the " chaise marine" which is the name the 
contrivance bears, but why, Heaven only knows. 

The street of the town had its centre occupied at the 
broadest place with a long row of cars, covered in a similar 
manner to the chaise marine, a door or a shutter laid across 
underneath, the awning, after the fashion of a counter, on 
which various articles were displayed for sale ; for the occasion 
of the election was as good as a fair to the small dealers, and 
the public were therefore favoured with the usual opportunity 
of purchasing uneatable gingerbread, knives that would not 
cut, spectacles to increase blindness, and other articles of equal 

While the dealers here displayed their ware, and were 
vociferous in declaring its excellence, noisy groups passed up 
and down on either side of these ambulatory shops, discussing 
the merits of the candidates, predicting the result of the 
election, or giving an occasional cheer for their respective 
parties, with the twirl of a stick or the throwing up of a hat ; 
while from the houses on both sides of the street the scraping 
of fiddles, and the lilting of pipes, increased the minglei 

But the crowd was thickest and the uproar greatest in front 
of the inn where Scatterbrain's committee sat, and before the 
house of Murphy, who gave up all his establishment to the 
service of the election, and whose stable-yard made a capital 
place of mustering for the tallies of Egan's electors to assemble 
ere they marched to the poll. At last the hour for opening 

• A large basket of coarse wicker-work, used mo^ for carrying 
turf — Angtice, peat. 


the poll struck, the inn poured forth the Scatterbrains, and 
Murphy's stable-yard the Eganites, the two bodies of electors 
uttering thundering shouts of defiance, as, with rival banners 
flying, they joined in one common stream, rushing to give 
their votes — for as for their voices, they were giving them most 
liberally and strenuously already. The dense crowd soon sur- 
rounded the hustings in front of the court-house, and the 
throes and heavings of this living mass resembled a turbulent 
sea lashed by a tempest : — but what sea is more unruly than 
an excited crowd ? — what tempest fiercer than the breath of 
political excitement ? 

Conspicuous amongst those on the hustings were both the 
candidates, and their aiders and abetters on either side ; 
O'Grady and Furlong, Dick Dawson and Tom Durfy for work, 
and Growling to laugh at them all. Edward O'Connor was 
addressing the populace in a spirit-stirring appeal to their pride 
and affections, stimulating them to support their tried and 
trusty friend, and not yield the honour of their county either 
to fears or favours of a stranger, nor copy the bad example 
which some (who ought to blush) had set them, of betraying 
old friends and abandoning old principles. Edward's address 
was cheered by those who heard it : — but being heard is not 
essential to the applause attendant on political addresses, for 
those who do not hear cheer quite as much as those who do. 
The old adage hath it, " Shew me your company, and I'll tell 
you who you are ;" — and in the spirit of the adage one 
might say, " Let me see the speech-maker, an' I'll tell you 
what he says." So, when Edward O'Connor spoke, the boys 
welcomed him with the shout of " Ned of the Hill for ever ! " 
— and knowing to what tune his mouth would be opened, they 
cheered accordingly when he concluded. O'Grady, on evinc- 
ing a desire to address them, was not so successful ; — the 
moment he shewed himself, taunts were flung at him : but 
spite of this, attempting to frown down their dissatisfaction, he 
began to speak ; but he had not uttered six words when his 
voice was drowned in the discordant yells of a trumpet. It is 
scarcely necessary to tell the reader that the performer was the 
identical trumpeter of the preceding day, whom O'Grady had 
kicked so unmercifully, who, in indignation at his wrongs, had 
gone over to the enemy ; and having after a night's hard 
work, disengaged the cork which Andy had crammed into his 
trumpet, appeared in the crowd ready to do battle in the 
popular cause. — " Wait," he cried, " till that savage of a baste 
of a Squire dares for to go for to spake ! — won't I smother 
him !" Then he would put his instrument of vengeance to 
his lips, and produce a yell that made his auditors put thei* 


hands to thar ears. Thua armed, he waited near the platform 
for O'Grady's speech, and put his threat effectually into 
execution. O'Grady saw whence the annoyance proceeded, 
and shook his fist at the delinquent, with protestations that the 
police should drag' him from the crowd, if he dared to continue 
— but every threat was blighted in the bud by the withering- 
blast of a trumpet, which was regularly followed by a pealof 
laughter from the crowd. O'Grady stamped and swore with 
raize, and calling Furlong, sent him to inform the sheriff how 
riotous the crowd were, and requested him to have the 
trumpeter seized. 

Furlong hurried off on his mission, and after a long search 
for the potential functionary, saw him in a distant corner, 
engaged in what appeared to be an urgent discussion between 
him and Murtough Murphy, who was talking in the most 
jocular manner to the sheriff, who seemed anything but amused 
with his argumentative merriment. The fact was, Murphy, 
while pushing the interests of Egan with an energy unsurpassed, 
did it with all the utmost cheerfulness, and gave his opponents a 
laugh in exchange for the point gained against them, and while 
he defeated, amused them. Furlong, after shoving and elbow- 
ing his way through the crowd, suffering from heat and exertion, 
came fussing up to the sheriff, wiping his face with a scented 
cambric pocket-handkerchief. The sheriff and Murphy were 
standing close beside one of the polling desks, and on Furlong's 
lisping out " Miste' Shewiff," Murphy, recognising the voice and 
manner, turned suddenly round, and with the most provoking 
cordiality addressed him thus, with a smile and a nod, "Ah! 
Mister Furlong, how d'ye do ? — delighted to see you — here we 
are at it, sir, hammer and tongs — of course you are come to 
vote for Egan 1" 

Furlong, who intended to annihilate Murphy with an indig- 
nant repetition of the provoking question put to him, threw as 
much of defiance as he could in his namby pamby manner, and 
exclaimed, " /vote for Egan 1" 

" Thank you, sir," said Murphy. " Record the vote," added 
he to the clerk. 

There was loud laughter on one side, and anger as loud on 
the other, at the way in which Murphy had entrapped Furlong, 
and cheated him into voting against his own party. In vain 
the poor gull protested he never meant to vote for Egan. 

" But you did it," cried Murphy. 

"What the deuce have you done?" cried Scatterbrain'a 
a: .nt, in a rage. 

" Of course, they know I wouldn't vote that way," said 


Furlong'. " I couldn't vote that way — it's a mistake, and 
pwotest against the twick." 

" We've got the trick, and we'll keep it, however," said 

Scatterbrain's agent said 'twas unfair, and desired the polling- 
clerk not to record the vote. 

" Didn't every one hear him say ' / vote for Egan ?' " asked 

" But he didn't mean it, sir," said the agent. 

" I don't care what he meant, but I know he said it," retorted 
Murphy; "and everyone round knows he said it; and as I 
mean what I say myself, I suppose every other gentleman does 
the same — down with the vote, Mister Polling-clerk." 

A regular wrangle now took place between the two agents, 
amidst the laughter of the bystanders, whose merriment was 
increased by Furlong's vehement assurances he did not mean to 
vote as Murphy wanted to make it appear he had ; but the more 
he protested, the more the people laughed. This increased hia 
energy in fighting out the point, until Scatterbrain's agent 
recommended him to desist, for that he was only interrupting 
their own voters from coming up. " Never mind now, sir," 
said the agent, "I'll appeal to the assessor about that vote." 

" Appeal as much as you like,'' said Murtough ; "that vote 
is as dead as a herring to you." 

" Furlong, finding further remonstrance unavailing, as 
regarded his vote, delivered to the sheriff the message of 
O'Grady, who was boiling over with impatience, in the mean- 
time, at the delay of his messenger, and anxiously expecting 
the arrival of sheriff and police to coerce the villanous trumpeter 
and chastise the applauding crowd, which became worse and 
worse every minute. 

They exhibited a new source of provocation to O'Grady, by 
exposing a rat-trap hung at the end of a pole, with the caged 
vermin within, and vociferated " Rat, rat," in the pauses of the 
trumpet. Scatterbrain, remembering the hearing they gave him 
the previous day, hoped to silence them, and begged O'Grady to 
permit him to address them ; but the whim of the mob was up, 
and could not be easily diverted, and Scatterbrain himself was 
hailed with the name of " Eat-catcher." 

" You cotch him — and I wish you joy of him !" cried one. 

"How much did you give for him?'' shouted another. 

" What did you bait your thrap with ?" roared a third. 

" A bit o' threasury bacon,''' was the answer from a stento- 
rian voice amidst the multitude, who shouted with laughter at 
the apt rejoinder, which they reiterated from one end of the 


crowd to the other, and the cry of " threasury bacon " rang- far 
and wide. 

Scatterbrain andO'Grady consulted together on the hustings 
what was to be done, while Dick the Devil was throwing 1 jokes 
to the crowd, and inflaming- their mischievous merriment, and 
Growling- looking on with an expression of internal delight at 
the fun, uproar, and vexation, around him. It was just a dish 
to hi? taste, and he devoured it with silent satisfaction. 

" What the deuce keeps that sneaking dandy ?" cried 
O'Grady to Scatterbrain. " He should have returned long 
ago." Oh! could he have only known at that moment, that his 
sweet son-in-law elect was voting against them, what would 
have been the consequence I 

Another exhibition, insulting to O'Grady, now appeared in 
the crowd — a chimney-pot and weathercock, after the fashion 
of his mother's, was stuck on a pole, and underneath was 
suspended an old coat, turned inside out ; this double indication 
of his change, so peculiarly insulting, was elevated before the 
hustings, amidst the jeers and laughter of the people. O'Grady 
was nearly frantic — he rushed to the front of the platform, he 
shook his fist at the mockery, poured every abusive epithet on 
its perpetrators, and swore he would head the police himself and 
clear the crowd. In reply, the crowd hooted, the rat-trap and 
weathercock were danced together after the fashion of Punch 
and Judy, to the music of the trumpet ; and another pole made 
its appearance, with a piece of bacon on it, and a placard bearing 
the inscription of " Treasury bacon," all which Tom Durfy had 
run off to procure at a huckster's shop the moment he heard the 
waggish answer, which he thus turned to account. 

" The military must be called out !" said O'Grady ; and with 
these words he left the platform to seek the sheriff. 

Edward O'Connor, the moment he heard O'Grady's threat, 
quitted the hustings also, in company with old Growling. 
" What a savage and dangerous temper that man has !" said 
Edward ; " calling for the military when the people have com- 
mitted no outrage to require such interference." 

" They have poked up the bear with their poles, sir, and it is 
likely he'll give them a hug before he's done with them," 
answered the doctor. 

"But what need of military?" indignantly exclaimed 
Edward. " The people are only going on with the noise and 
disturbance common to any election, and the chances are, that 
savage man may influence the sheriff to provoke the people, by 
the presence of soldiers, to some act which would not have 
taken place but for their interference ; and thus they themselves 
originate the offence which they are forearmed with power to 


chastise. In England such extreme measures are never resorted 
to until necessity compels them. How I have envied English- 
men, when on the occasion of assizes, every soldier is marched 
from the town while the judge is sitting ; in Ireland the place 
of trial bristles with bayonets 1 How much more must a people 
respect and love the laws, whose own purity and justice are 
their best safeguard — whose inherent majesty is sufficient for 
their own protection ! The sword of justice should never need 
the assistance of the swords of dragoons ; and in the election of 
their representatives, as well as at judicial sittings, a people 
should be free from military despotism." 

"But, as an historian, my dear young friend," said the 
doctor, "I need not remind you, that dragoons have been 
considered 'good lookers-on' in Ireland since the days of 

" Ay ! " said Edward ; "and scandalous it is, that the abuses 
of the seventeenth century should be perpetuated in the nine- 
teenth.* While those who govern show, by the means they 
adopt for supporting their authority, that their rule requires 
undue force to uphold it, they tacitly teach resistance to the 
people, and their practices imply that the resistance is righteous." 

"My dear Master Wed," said the doctor, "you're a patriot, 
and I'm sorry for you ; you inherit the free opinions of your 
namesake ' of the hill,' of blessed memory ; with such sentiments 
you may make a very good Irish barrister, but you'll never be 
an Irish judge — and as for a silk gown, faith you may leave 
the wearing of that to your wife, for stuff is all that will ever 
adorn your shoulders." 

" Well, I would rather have stuff there than in my head," 
answered Edward. 

" Very epigrammatic, indeed, Master Ned," said the doctor. 
" Let us make a distich of it," added he, with a chuckle; "for, 
of a verity, some of the K. C.'s of our times are but dunces. 
Let's see — how will it go?" 

Edward dashed off this couplet m a moment — 

" Of modern king's counsel this truth may be said, 

They have silk on their shoulders, and stuff 'm their head." 

" Neat enough," said the doctor ; " but you might contrive 
more sting in it : — something to the tune of the impossibility oi 

° When Strafford's infamous project of the wholesale robbery of 
Connaught was put in practice, not being quite certain of his juries, he 
writes that he will send three hundred horse to the province during the 
proceedings, as " good lookers-on."' 

HANDY A>i>.. 19a 

making ' a silk purse out of a sow's ear,' but the facility of 
manufacturing- silk gowns out of bores' heads." 

" That's out of your bitter pill-box, Doctor," said Ned, 

'• Put it into rhyme, Ned — and set it to music— and dedicate 
it to the bar mess, and see how you'll rise in your profession ! 
Good-bye — I will be back again to see the fun as soon as I can, 
but I must go now and visit an old woman who is in doubt 
whether she stands most in need of me or the priest. It's 
wonderful, how little people think of the other world till they 
are going to leave this ; and with all their praises of heaven, 
how very anxious they are to stay out of it as long as they 

With this bit of characteristic sarcasm, the doctor and 
Edward separated. 

Edward had hardly left the hustings, when Murphy hurried 
on the platform and asked for him. 

" He left a few minutes ago," said Tom Durfy. 

" Well I dare say he's doing good wherever he is," said 
Murtough ; " I wanted to speak to him, but when he come? 
back send him to me. In the meantime, Tom, run down and 
bring up a batch of voters — we're getting a little a-head, I 
think, with the bothering I'm giving them up there, and now I 
want to push them with good strong tallies — run down to the 
yard, like a good fellow, and march them up." 

Off posted Tom Durfy on his mission, and Murphy returned 
to the court house. 

Tom, on reaching Murphy's house, found a strong posse of 
O'Grady's party hanging round the place, and one of the 
fellows had backed a car against the yard gate which opened 
on the street, and was the outlet for Egan's voters. By way 
of excuse for this the car was piled with cabbages for sale, and 
a couple of very unruly pigs were tethered to the shafts, and 
the strapping fellow who owned all, kept guard over them. 
Tom immediately told him he should leave that place, and 
an altercation commenced ; but even an electioneering dispute 
could not but savour of fun and repartee, between Paddies. 

"Be off!" said Tom. 

" Sure I can't be off till the market's over," was the 

" Well, you must take your car out o' this." 

" Indeed now, you'll let me stay, Misther Durfy." 

" Indeed I won't." 

" Arrah ! what harm ?" 

" You're stopping up the gate on purpose, and you must go ' 

•' Sure your honour wouldn't spile my stand !'' 


" Paith, I'll spoil more than your stand, if you don't leave that." 

" Not finer cabbage in the world." 

"Go out o' that now, 'while your shoes are good,'"* said 
Tom, seeing he had none; for in speaking of shoes, Tom had no 
intention of alluding to the word clwux, and thus making a 
French pun upon the cabbage — for Tom did not understand 
French, but rather despised it as a jack-a-dandy acquirement. 

" Sure, you wouldn't ruin my market, Misther Durfy." 

"None of your humbugging — but be off at once," said 
Tom, whose tone indicated he was very much in earnest. 

" Not a nicer slip of a p"ig in the market than the same 
pigs — I'm expectin' thirty shillin's a-piece for them." 

"Faith, you'll get more than thirty shilling's," cried Tom, 
"in less than thirty seconds, if you don't take your dirty 
cabbage and blackguard pigs out o' that!" 

" Dirty cabbages ! " cried the fellow, in a tone of surprise. 

The order to depart was renewed. 

"Blackguard pigs!" cried Paddy, in affected wonder. "Ah, 
Masther Tom, one would think it was afther dinner you wor." 

"What do you mean, you rap 1 — do you intend to say I'm 
drunk ? " 

" Oh no, sir 1 But if it's not afther dinner wid you, I think 
you wouldn't turn up your nose at bacon and greens.'' 

"Oh, with all your joking," said Tom, laughing, "you 
won't find me a chicken to pluck for your bacon and greens, 
my boy ; so, start! — vanish ! — disperse ! — my bacon merchant." 

While this diologue was going forward, several cars were 
gathered round the place, with a seeming view to hem in 
Egan's voters, and interrupt their progress to the poll ; but the 
gate of the yard suddenly opened, and the fellows within soon 
upset the car which impeded their egress, gave freedom to the 
pigs, who used their liberty in eating the cabbages, while their 
owner was making cause with his party of O'Grady ites against the 
outbreak of Egan's men. The affair was not one of importance; 
the numbers were not sufficient to constitute a good row — 
it was but a hustling affair, after all, and a slight scrimmage 
enabled Tom Durfy to head his men in a rush to the poll. 

The polling was now prosecuted vigorously on both sides, 
each party anxious to establish a majority on the first day ; and 
of course the usual practices for facilitating their own, and 
retarding their opponents' progress, were resorted to. 

Scatterbrain's party, to counteract the energetic movement 
of the enemy's voters and Murphy's activity, got up a mode of 

* A saying among the Irish peasantry — meaning there is danger in 


interruption seldom made use of, but of which they availed 
themselves on the present occasion. It was determined to put 
the oath of allegiance to all the Roman Catholics, by which 
gome loss of time to the Eganite party was effected. 

This gave rise to odd scenes and answers, occasionally : — some 
of the fellows did not know what the oath of allegiance meant ; 
some did not know whether there might not be a scruple of con- 
science against making it ; others, indignant at what they felt to be 
an insulting mode of address, on the part of the person who said 
to them, in a tone savouring of supremacy — " You're a Roman 
Catholic?" — would not answer immediately, and gave dogged 
looks, and sometimes dogged answers; and it required address on 
the part of Egan's agents to make them overcome such feelings, 
and expedite the work of voting. At last the same herculean 
fellow wno gave O'Grady the fierce answer about the blunderbuss 
tenure he enjoyed, came up to v,ote, and fairly bothered the 
querist with his ready replies, which, purposely, were never 
to the purpose. The examination run nearly thus :— 

"You're a Roman Catholic?" 

"Ami ?" said the feUow. 

" Are you not P" demanded the agent. 

" You say I am," was the answer. 

" Come, sir, answer — What's your religion P" 

" The thrue religion." 

" What religion is that?" 

" My religion." 

"And what's your religion I" 

" My mother's religion." 

" And what was your mother's religion ?' 

" She tuk whisky in her tay." 

" Come, now, I'll find you out, as cunning as you are," said 
the agent, piqued into an encounter of wits with this fellow, 
whose baffling of every question pleased the crowd. 

" You bless yourself, don't you 1" 

" When I'm done with you, I think I ought." 

"What place of worship do you go to ?" 

" The most convaynient." 

" But of what persuasion are you ?" 

" My persuasion is that you won't find it out." 

" What is your belief ?" 

" My belief is that you're puzzled." 

"Do you confess?" 

" Xot to you." 

" Come ! now I have you. Who would you send for if yoq 
were likely to die ?" 

" Doctor Growlin' " 


"Not for the priest?" 

"I must first get a messenger." 

"Confound your quibbling! — tell me, then, what you? 
opinions are — your conscientious opinions I mean?" 

" They are the same as my landlord's." 

" And what are your landlord's opinions?" 

" Faix, his opinion is, that I won't pay him the last half 
year's rint ; and I'm of the same opinion myself." 

A roar of laughter followed this answer, and dumb-foundered 
the agent for a time ; but, angered at the successful quibbling 
of the sturdy and wily fellow before him, he at last declared, 
with much severity of manner, that he must have a direct reply. 
"I insist, sir, on. your answering, at once, are you a Roman 

" I am," said the fellow. 

" And could not you say so at once?" repeated the officer. 

" You never axed me," repeated the other. 

" I did," said the officer. 

" Indeed, you didn't. You said I was a great many things, 
but you never axed me — you wor dhrivin' crass words and 
cruked questions at me, and I gev you answers to match them, 
for sure I thought it was manners to cut out my behavor on 
your patthern." 

" Take the oath, sir." 

" Where am I to take it too, sir ?" inquired the provoking 

The clerk was desired to "swear him," without further 
notice being taken of his impertinent answer. 

" I hope the oath is not woighty, sir, for my conscience is 
tindher since the last alibi I swore." 

The business of the interior was riow suspended for a time by 
the sounds of fierce tumult which arose from without. Some 
rushed from the court-house to the platform outside, and beheld 
the crowd in a state of great excitement, beating back the police, 
who had been engaged in endeavouring to seize the persons and 
things which had offended O'Grady ; and the police falling back 
for support on a party of military which O'Grady had prevailed 
on the sheriff to call out. The sheriff was a weak, irresolute 
man, and was over-persuaded by such words as " mob " and 
" riot," and breaches of the peace being about to be committed, 
if the ruffians were not checked before-hand. The wisdom ot 
preventive measures was preached, and the rest of the hackneyed 
phrases were paraded, which brazen-faced and iron-handed 
oppressors are only too familiar with. 

The people were now roused, and thoroughly defeated the 
police, who were forced to fly to the lines of the military part$ 


for protection ; having effected this object, the crowd retained 
their position, and did not attempt to assault the soldiers, though 
a very firm and louring front was presented to them, and shouts 
of defiance against the " Peelers " * rose loud and long. 

"A round of ball cartridge would cool their courage," said 

The English officer in command of the party, looking with 
wonder and reproach upon him, asked if he had the command 
of the party. 

".No, sir; — the sheriff of course; — but if I were in his 
place, I'd soon disperse the rascals." 

" Did you ever witness the effect of a fusilade, sir ?" inquired 
the officer. 

"No, sir," said O'Grady, gruffly; "but I suppose I know 
pretty well what it is." 

" For the sake of humanity, sir, I hope you do not, or I am 
willing to believe you would not talk so lightly of it ; but it is 
singular how much fonder civilians are of urging measures that 
end in blood, than those whose profession is arms, and who know 
how disastrous is their use." 

The police were ordered to advance again and seize the 
" ringleaders :" they obeyed unwillingly ; but being saluted 
with some stones, their individual wrath was excited, and they 
advanced to chastise the mob, who again drove them back ; and 
a nearer approach to the soldiers was made by the crowd in the 
scuffle which ensued. 

" Now, will you fire 1" said O'Grady to the sheriff. 

The sheriff, who was a miserable coward, was filled with 
dread at the threatening aspect of the mob, and wished to have 
his precious person under shelter before hostilities commenced ; 
so, with pallid lips, and his teeth chattering with fear, he 
exclaimed : — 

" No ! no ! no ! — don't fire — don't fire— don't be precipitate : 
besides, I haven't read the Riot Act." 

"There's no necessity for firing, I should say," said the 

"I thought not, captain — I hope not, captain," said the 
sheriff, who now assumed a humane tone. " Think of the effusion 
of blood, my dear sir," said he to O'Grady, who was grinning 
like a fiend all the time — "the sacrifice of human life— I 
couldn't, sir — I can't, sir — besides, the Riot Act — haven't it 
about me — must be read, you know, Mister O'Grady." 

" Not always." said O'Grady, fiercely. 

• The name given to the police by the people — the force being first 
established by Sir Robert Peel, then Mr. Peel, Secretary for Ireland. 


" But the inquiry is always very strict after, if it is not, sir — 
I should not like the effusion of human blood, sir, unless the 
Riot Act was read, and the thing' done regularly, — don't think 
I care for the d — d rascals a button, sir, — only the regularity, 
you know ; and the effusion of human blood is serious, and the 
inquiry, too, without the Riot Act. Captain, would you oblige 
me to fall back a little closer round the court-house, and main- 
tain the freedom of election. Besides, the Riot Act is up stairs 
in my desk. The court-house must be protected, you know, and 
I just want to run up stairs for the Riot Act; I'll be down again 
in a moment. — Captain, do oblige me — draw your men a leetle 
closer round the court-house." 

" I'm in a better position here, sir," said the captain. 

"I thought you were under my command, sir," said the 

" Under your command to fire, sir, but the choice of position 
rests with me ; and we are stronger where we are, the court- 
house is completely covered, and while my men are under arms 
here, you may rely on it the crowd is completely in check with- 
out firing a shot." 

Off ran the sheriff to the court-house. 

" You're saving of your gunpowder, I see, sir," said O'Grady 
to the captain, with a sardonic grin. 

" You seem to be equally sparing of your humanity, sir," 
returned the captain. 

" God forbid I should be afraid of a pack of ruffians," said 

" Or I of a single one," returned the captain, with a look of 
stern contempt. 

There is no knowing what this bitter bandying of hard 
words might have led to, had it not been interrupted by the ap- 
pearance of the sheriff at one of the windows of the court-house ; 
there, with the Riot Act in his hand, he called out: — 

" Now I've read it — fire away, boys — fire away ! " and all 
his compunction about the effusion of blood vanished the mo- 
ment his own miserable carcass was safe from harm. Again 
he waved the Riot Act from the window, and vociferated, "Fire 
away, boys !" as loud as his frog-like voice permitted. ! 

" Now, sir, you're ordered to fire," said O'Grady to the cap- j 

"I'll not obey that crder, sir," said the captain ; "the man 
is out of his sraises with fear, and I'll not obey such a serious 
command from a madman." 

"Do you dare disobey the orders of the sheriff, sir?" 
thundered O'Grady. 

" I am responsible for my act, sir," said the captain— 


" seriously responsible ; but I will not slaughter unarmed people 
until I see further and fitter cause." 

The sheriff had vanished — he was nowhere to be seen 
— and O'Grady as a magistrate had now the command. 
Seeing the cool and courageous man he had to deal with in the 
military chiel, he determined to push matters to such an ex- 
tremity that he should be forced, in self-defence, to fire. With 
this object in view he ordered a fresh advance of the police upon 
the people, and in this third affair matters assumed a mora 
serious aspect; sticks and stones were used with more effect, 
and the two parties being nearer to each other, the missiles 
meant only for the police overshot their mark and struck the 
soldiers, who bore their painful situation with admirable 

" > T ow will you fire, sir ?" said O'Grady to the officer. 

" If I fire now, sir, I am as likely to kill the police as the 
people ; withdraw your police first, sir, and then I will fire." 

This was but reasonable — so reasonable, that even O'Grady, 
enraged almost to madness, as he was, could not gainsay it ; and 
he went forward himself to withdraw the police force. 
O'Grady's presence increased the rage of the mob, whose blood 
was now thoroughly up, and as the police fell back they were 
pressed by the infuriated people, who now began almost to dis- 
regard the presence of the military and poured down in a re- 
sistless stream upon them. 

O'Grady repeated his command to the captain, who, find- 
ing matters thus driven to extremity, saw no longer the possi- 
bility of avoiding bloodshed ! and the first preparatory word of 
the fatal order was given, the second on his lips, and the long 
file of bright muskets flashed in the sun ere they should quench 
his light for ever to some, and carry darkness to many a heart 
and hearth, when a young and handsome man, mounted on a 
noble horse, came plunging and ploughing his way through the 
crowd, and, rushing between the half-levelled muskets and those 
who in another instant would have fallen their victims, he 
shouted in a voice whose noble tone carried to its hearers in- 
voluntary obedience, " Stop ! — for God's sake stop !" Then wheel- 
ing his horse suddenly round, he charged along the advancing 
front of the people, plunging his horse fiercely upon them, and 
waving them back with his hand, enforcing his commands with 
words as well as actions. The crowd fell back as he pressed 
upon them with fiery horsemanship unsurpassable by an Arab ; 
and as his dark clustering hair streamed about his noble face, 
pale from excitement, and with flashing eyes, he was a mode/ 
worthy of the best days of Grecian art — ay, and he had a sou\ 

worthy of the most glorious times of Grecian liberty ! 


%.')$ HAXDY AXIS"?. 

It was Edward O'Connor. 

" Fire i ; ' cried O'Grady again. 

The gallant soldier, touched by the heroism of O'Connor, 
i.nd roused by the brutality of O'Grady beyond his patience, in 
she excitement of the moment, was urged beyond the habitual 
parlance of a gentleman, and swore vehemently, "I'll be 
damned if I do ! I wouldn't run the risk of shooting that noble 
fellow for all the magistrates in your county." 

O'Connor had again turned round, and rode up to the 
military party, having heard the word "fire!" repeated. 

" For mercy's sake, sir, don't fire, and I pledge you my sou! 
the crowd shall disperse." 

" Ay !" cried O'Grady, " they won't obey the laws nor the 
magistrates ; but they'll listen fast enough to a d — d rebel like 

" Liar and ruffian !" exclaimed Edward. "I'm a better and 
more loyal subject than you, who provoke resistance to the laws 
you should make honoured." 

At the word " liar," O'Grady, now quite frenzied, attempted 
to seize a musket from a soldier beside him ; and had he 
succeeded in obtaining - possession of it, Edward O'Connor's days 
had been numbered; but the soldier would not give up his 
fire-lock, and O'Grady, intent on immediate vengeance, then 
rushed upon Edward, and seizing him by the leg, attempted to 
unhorse him, but Edward was too firm in his seat for this, and 
a struggle ensued. 

The crowd, fearing Edward was about to fall a victim, raised 
a fierce shout, and were about to advance, when the captain, 
with admirable presence of mind, seized O'Grady, dragged him 
away from his hold, and gave freedom to Edward, who instantly 
used it again to charge the advancing line of the mob, and 
drive them back. 

" Back, boys, back ! " he cried, " don't give your enemies a 
triumph by being disorderly. Disperse — retire into houses, let 
nothing tempt you to riot — collect round your tally rooms, and 
come up quietly to the polling — and you will yet have a peace- 
ful triumph." 

The crowd obeying, gave three cheers for " Ned-o'-the Hill," 
and the dense mass, which could not be awed, and dreaded not 
the engines cf war, melted away before the breath of peace. 

As they retired on one side, the soldiers were ordered to 
their quarters on the other, while their captain and Edward 
D'Connor stood in the midst ; but ere they separated these two, 
with charity in their souls, waved their hands towards each 
other in token of amity, and parted, verily, in friendship. 



After the incidents just recorded, of course great confusion 
snd excitement existed, during' which O'Grady was forced back 
i 1 1 to the court-house, in a state bordering on insanity. Inflamed 
aa his furious passions had been to the top of their bent, and 
his thirst of revenge still remaining unslaked, foiled in all hia 
movements, and flung back as it were into the seething 
cauldron of his own hellish temper, he was a pitiable sight, 
foaming at the mouth like a wild animal, and uttering the 
most horrid imprecations. On Edward O'Connor principally 
his curses fell, with denunciations of immediate vengeance, 
and the punishment of dismissal from the service was prophesied 
on oath for the English captain. The terrors of a court- 
martial gleamed fitfully through the frenzied mind of the 
raving Squire for the soldier ; and for O'Connor, instant death 
at his own hands was his momentary cry. 

" Find the rascal for me," he exclaimed, " that I may call 

him out and shoot him like a dog — yes, by , a dog — a dogj 

I'm. disgraced while he lives — I wish the villain had three lives 
that I might take them all at once — all — all ! — " and he stretched 
out his hands as he spoke, and grasped at the air as if in 
imagination he clutched the visionary lives his bloodthirsty 
wishes conjured up. 

Edward, as soon as he saw the crowd dispersed, returned to 
the hustings, and sought Dick Dawson that he might be in 
readiness to undertake, on his part, the arrangement of the 
hostile meeting, to which he knew he should be immediately 
called. " Let it be over, my dear Dick, as soon as possible," 
said Edward ; it's not a case in which delay can be of any 
service; the insult was mortal between us, and the sooner 
expiated by a meeting the better." 

"Don't be so agitated, Ned," said Dick; "fair and ?as'« 
man — fair and easy — keep yourself cool." 

" Dear Dick — I'll be cool on the ground, but not till inisa 
—I want the meeting over before my father hears of till* 
quarrel ; I'm his only child, Dick, and you know how *» 
love* me !" 

He wrung Dick's hand as he spoke, and his eye gfisienea 
with tenderness ; but with the lightning quickness of thcueftd 
all gentle feeling vanished, as he saw iscatterbrain streq^usitv 


his way towards hiin, and read in his eye the purport of his 
approach. He communicated to Edward his object in seeking 
him, and was at once referred to Dawson, who instantly retired 
with him, and arranged an immediate meeting. This was 
easily done, as they had their pistols with them since the duel 
in the morning ; and if there be those who think it a little 
too much of a good thing to have two duels in one day, pray 
let them remember it was election time, and even in sober 
England 'that period often gives rise to personalities which 
call for the intervention of the code of honour. Only in Ire- 
land the thing is sooner over. We seldom have three columns of 
a newspaper filled with notes on the subject, numbered from 1 
to 25.* Gentlemen don't consider whether it is too soon or too 
late to fight, or whether a gentleman is perfectly entitled to 
call him out or not. The title in Ireland is generally con- 
sidered sufficient in the will to do it, and few there would 
wait for the poising of a very delicately balanced scale of 
etiquette before going to the ground ; they would be more 
likely to fight first, and leave the world to argue about the 
niceties after. 

In the present instant a duel was unavoidable, and it was 
to be feared a mortal one, for deadly insult had been given on 
both sides. 

The rumour of the hostile meeting flew like wildfire through 
the town, and when the parties met in a field about a quarter 
of a mile beyond the bridge, an anxious crowd was present. 
The police were obliged to be in strong force on the ground to 
keep back the people, who were not now, as an hour before, in 
the town, in uproarious noise and action, but still as death ; 
not a murmur was amongst them ; the excitement of love for 
the noble young champion, whose life was in danger for his 
care of them, held them spell-bound in a tranquillity almost 

The aspect of the two principals was in singular contrast; 
on the one side a man burning for revenge, who, to use a 
common, but terrible parlance, desired to " wash out the dis- 
honour put upon him in blood." The other was there, regret- 
ting that cause existed for the awful arbitrement, and only 
anxious to defend his own, not take another's life. To sensi- 
tive minds the reaction is always painful of having insulted 
another, when the excitement is over which prompted it. When 
the hot blood which inflamed the brain runs in cooler currents 
the man of feeling always regrets, if he does not reproach 

* Just such a lengthy correspondence had appeared in the London 
Journals, when the first edition of this book was published. 

HAPiDY AHu/. 200 

himself, with having urged his fellow-man to break the com- 
mandments of the Most High, and deface, perhaps annihilate, 
the form that was moulded in His image. The words "liar 
and ruffian" haunted Edward's mind reproachfully ; but then 
the provocation — " Rebel !" — No gentleman could brook it. 
Because his commiseration for a people had endeared him to 
them, was he to be called '■'■rebel?" Because, at the risk of his 
own life, he had preserved perhaps scores, and prevented an 
infraction of the law, was he to be called "rebel?" He stood 
acquitted before his own conscience: — after all, the most 
terrible bar before which we can be called in this world. 

The men were placed upon their ground, and the word to 
fire given. O'Grady, in his desire for vengeance, deliberately 
raised his pistol with deadly aim, and Edward was thus enabled 
to fire first, yet with such cool precision, that his shot took 
efTect, as he intended ; O'Grady's pistol arm was ripped up 
from the wrist to the elbow ; but so determined was his will 
and so firm his aim, that the wound, severe as it was, produced 
but a slight twitch in his hand, which threw it up slightly, and 
saved Edward's life, for the ball passed through his hat jiut 
above his head. 

O'Grady's arm instantly after dropped to his side, the 
pistol fell from his hand, and he staggered, for the pain of the 
wound was extreme. His second ran to his assistance. 

" It is only in the arm," said O'Grady, firmly, though his 
voice was changed by the agony he suffered ; " give me another 

Dick at the same moment was beside Edward. 

" You're not touched," h« said, 

Edward coolly pointed to his hat. 

" Too much powder," said Dick; "I thought so when his 
pistols were loaded." 

" No," said Edward, "it was my shot ; I saw his hand twitch." 

Sratterbrain demanded of Dick another shot on the part 
of O'Grady. 

" By all means," was the answer, and he handed a fresh 
pistol to Edward. " To give the devil his due," said Dick, 
"he has great pluck, for you hit him hard — see how pale he 
looks — I dont't think he can hurt you much this time — but 
watch him well, my dear Ned." 

The seconds withdrew, but with all O'Grady's desperata 
courage, he could not lift the pistol with his right arm, which, 
though hastily bound in a handkerchief, was bleeding profusely, 
and racked with torture. On finding his right hand powerless, 
such was his unflinching courage, that he took the pistol in his 
left ; this of course impaired his power of aim, and his nerve 


was so shattered by his bodily suffering, that his pistol was 
discharged before coming to the level, and Edward saw the 
sod torn up close beside his foot. He then, of course, fired in 
the air. O'Grady would have fallen but for the immediate 
assistance of his friends ; he was led from the ground and 
placed in a carriage, and it was not until Edward O'Connor 
mounted his horse to ride away, that the crowd manifested 
their feelings. Then three tremendous cheers arose ; and the 
shouts of their joy and triumph reached the wounded man aa 
he was driven slowly from the ground. 


The widow Flanagan had long ago determined that, when- 
ever the election should take place, she would take advantage 
of the great influx of visitors that event would produce, and 
give a grand party. Her preparations were all made to secure 
a good muster of her .country friends, when once the day of 
nomination was fixed ; and after the election began, she threw 
out all her hooks and lines in every direction, to catch every 
straggler worth having, whom the election brought into the 
town. It required some days to do this ; and it was not until 
the eve of the fifth, that her house was turned upside down 
and inside out for the reception of the numerous guests whose 
company she expected. 

The toil of the day's ele ction was over ; the gentlemen had 
dined and refreshed themselves with creature comforts; the 
"yicissitudes, and tricks, and chances of the last twelve hours 
were canvassed — when the striking of many a clock, or the con- 
sultation of the pocket-dial, warned those who were invited t o 
Mrs. O'Flanagan's party, that it was time to wash off the dust 
of the battle-field from their faces, and mount fresh linen and 
cambric. Those who were pleased to call themselves " good 
fellows," declared for "another bottle;" the faint-hearted 
swore that an autograph invitation from Venus herself to the 
heathen Olympus, with nectar and ambrosia for tea and bread- 
and-butter, could not tempt them from the Christian enjoy- 
ment of a feather-bed after the fag of such a day ; but the 
oreux chevaliers — those who did deserve to win a fair lady- 
shook off sloth and their morning trowsers, and taking to tights 
ind activity, hurried to **** flarty of the buxom, widow. 


The widow was in her glory; hospitable, she enjoyed 
receiving her friends, — mirthful, she looked forward to a long 
night of downright sport, — coquettish, she would have good 
opportunity of letting Tom Durfy see how attractive she was 
o the men,— while from the women her love of gossip and 
scandal (was there ever a lady in her position without it?) 
would have ample gratification in the accumulated news of the 
county of twenty miles round. She had but ojie large room af 
her command, and that was given up to the dancing ; and being 
cleared of tables, chairs, and carpet, could not be considered 
by Mrs. Flanagan as a proper reception-room for her guests, 
who were, therefore, received in a smaller apartment, where 
tea and coffee, toast and muffins, ladies and gentlemen, were 
all smoking-hot together, and the candles on the mantel-piece 
trickling down rivulets of fat in the most sympathetic manner, 
under the influence of the gentle sighing of a broken pane of 
glass, which the head of an inquiring youth in the street had 
stove in, while flattening his nose against it in the hope of 
getting a glimpse of the company through the opening in the 
window curtain. 

At last, when the room could hold no more, the company 
were drafted off to the dancing-room, which had only long deal 
forms placed against the wall to rest the weary after the exer- 
tions of the jig. The aforesaid forms, by the bye, were 
borrowed from the chapel ; the old wigsby who had the care 
of them for some time doubted the propriety of the sacred pro- 
perty being put to such a profane use, until the widow's argu- 
ments convinced him it was quite right, after she had given him 
a tenpenny-piece. As the dancing-room could not boast of a 
lustre, the deficiency was supplied by tin sconces hung against 
the wall ; for ormolu branches are not expected to be plenty in 
the provinces. But let the widow be heard for herself, as she 
bustled through her guests and caught a critical glance at her 
arrangements : " What's that you're faulting now ? — is it my 
deal seats without cushions ? Ah ! you're a lazy Larry, Bob 
Larkin. Cock you up with a cushion indeed ! if you sit the 
less, you'll dance the more. Ah ! Matty, I see you're eyeing 
my tin sconces there ; well, sure they have them at the 
county ball, when candlesticks are scarce, and what would you 
expect grander from a poor lone woman ? besides, we must 
have plenty of lights, or how could the beaux see the girls ? — 
though I see, Harry Cassidy, by your sly look, that you think 
they look as well in the dark — ah ! you dioil!" and she slapped 
his shoulder as she ran past. " Ah ! Mister Murphy, I'm de- 
lighted to see you ; what kept you so late ? — the election to be 
«ure. Well, we're beating them, ain't we f Ah 1 the old 


country for ever. I hope Edward O'Connor will be here. 
Come, begin the dance ; there's the piper and the fiddler in the 
corner as idle as a milestone without a number. Tom Durfy, 
don't ask me to dance, for I'm engaged for the next four 

" Oh ! but the first to me," said Tom. 

" Ah ! yis, Tom, I was ; but then, you know, I couldn't 
refuse the stranger from Dublin, and the English captain that 
will be there by and by ; he's a nice man, too, and long life 
to him, wouldn't fire on the people the other day ; I vow to the 
Virgin, all the women in the room ought to kiss him when he 
comes in. Ah, doctor ! there you are ; there's Mrs. Gubbins 
in the corner dying to have a chat with you; go over to her. 
Who's that taazing the piano there? Ah! James Reddy, it's 
you, I see. I hope it's in tune ; 'tis only four months since the 
tuner was here. 1 hope you've a new song for us, James. The 
tuner is so scarce, Mrs. Riley, in the country — not like Dublin ; 
but we poor country people, you know, must put up with what 
we can get ; not like you citizens, who has lashings of luxuries 
as easy as peas." Then, in a confidential whisper, she said, " 1 
hope your daughter has practised the new piece well to-day, 
for »I couldn't be looking after her, you know, to-day, 
being in such a bustle with my party ; I was just like a dog in 
a fair, in and out everywhere ; but I hope she's perfect in the 
piece ;" then, still more confidentially, she added, " for he's 
here — ah ! 1 wish it was, Mrs. Riley ;" then, with a nod and a 
wink, off she rattled through the room with a word for everybody. 

The Mrs. Riley, to whom she was so confidential, was a 
friend from Dublin, an atrociously vulgar woman, with a more 
vulgar daughter, who were on a visit with Mrs. Flanagan. The 
widow and the mother thought Murtough Murphy would be a 
good speculation for the daughter to " cock her cap at," (to 
use their own phrase,) and with this view the visit to the 
country was projected. But matters did not prosper ; Murphy 
was not much of a marrying man ; and if ever he might be 
caught in the toils of Hymen, some frank, joyous, unaffected 
dashing girl would have been the only one likely to serve a 
writ on the jovial attorney's heart. Now Miss Riley wa , to 
use Murtough Murphy's own phrase, " a batch of brass aid a 
stack of affectation," and the airs she attempted to play off n the 
country folk (Murphy in particular) only made her an object 
lor his mischievous merriment ; as an example, we may as well 
touch on one little incident enpassant. 

The widow had planned one day a walking party to a pic- 
turesque ruin, not far from the town, and determine 1 that 
Murphy should giv Q hi? arm to Miss Riley ; for the r»arty was 


arranged in couples, with a most deadly design on the liberty 
of the attorney. At the appointed hour all had arrived but 
Murphy ; the widow thought it a happy chance, so she hurried 
off the party, leaving Miss lliley to wait and follow under his 
escort. In about a quarter of an hour he came, having met the 
widow in the street, who sent him back for Miss Riley. Now 
Murtough saw the trap which was intended for him, and 
thought it fair to make what fun he could of the aifair, and 
being already sickened by various disgusting exhibitions of the 
damsel's affectation, he had the less scruple of "taking her 
down a peg," as he said himself. , 

When Murtough reached the house and asked for Miss 
Riley, he was ushered into the little drawing-room ; and there 
was that very full-blown young lady, on a chair before the 
fire, her left foot resting on the fender, her right crossed over 
it, and her body thrown back in a reclining attitude, with 
a sentimental droop of the head over a greasy novel : her 
figure was rather developed by her posture, indeed more so 
than Miss Riley quite intended, for her ankles were not unex- 
ceptionable, and the position of her feet revealed rather more. 
A bonnet and green veil lay on the hearth-rug, and her shawl 
hung over the handle of the fire-shovel. When Murphy en- 
tered, he was received with a faint " How d' do ?" 

" Pretty well, I thank you — how are you ?" said Murphy, 
in his rollicking tone. 

" Oh ! Miste' Murphy, you are so odd." 

" Odd, am I— how am I odd?" 

'•Oh! so odd." 

" Well, you'd better put on your bonnet and come walk, 
and we can talk of my oddity after." 

" Oh, indeed, I cawn't walk." 

" Can't walk!" exclaimed Murphy. " Why can't you walk ? 
I was sent for you." 

" 'Deed I cawn't." 
Ah, now!" said Murphy, giving her a little tender poke of 
brs forefinger on the shoulder. 

"Don't, Mister Murphy, pray don't." 

" But why won't you walk ?" 

" I'm too delicate." 

Murphy uttered a very long " Oh !!!!!" 

" 'Deed I am, Miste' Murphy, though you may disbelieve it." 

" Well — a nice walk is the best thing in the world for the 
health. Come along!" 

"Cawn't indeed; a gentle walk on a terrace, or a shadowy 
•venue, is all very well — the Rotunda Gardens, for instance. 

" Not forgetting the military bands that play there," said 


Murphy, " together with the officers of all the barracks in 
Dublin, clinking their sabres at their heels along the gravel 
walks, all for the small charge of a fi'penny bit." 

Miss Riley gave a reproachful look and shrug at the vulgar 
mention of a " fi'penny bit," which Murphy purposely said to 
shock her " Brummagem gentility." 

"How can you be so odd, Miste' Murphy?" she said. " I 
don't joke, indeed; a gentle walk — I repeat it — is all very 
well; but these horrid rough country walks — these masculine 
walks, I may say — are not consistent with a delicate frame 
like mine." 

" A delicate frame!" said Murtough. " Faith, I'll tell you 
what it is, Miss Riley," said he, standing bolt upright before 
her, plunging his hands into his pockets, and fixing his eyes on 
her feet, which still maintained their original position on the 
fender — " I'll tell you what it is, Miss Riley ; by the vartue of 
my oath, if your other leg is a match for the one I see, the 
divil a harm a trot from this to Dublin would do you!" 

Miss Riley gave a faint scream, and popped her legs under 
her chair, while Murphy ran off in a shout of laughter, and 
joined the party, to whom he made no secret of his joke. 

But all this did not damp Miss Riley's hopes of winning 
him. She changed her plan; and seeing he did not bow to 
what she considered the supremacy of her very elegant man- 
ners, she set about feigning at once admiration and dread of 
him. She would sometimes lift her eyes to Murtough with a 
languishing expression, and declare she never knew any one 
she was so afraid of; but even this double attack on his 
vanity could not turn Murphy's flank, and so a very laugh- 
able flirtation went on between them, he letting her employ all 
the enginery of her sex against him, with a mischievous enjoy- 
ment in her blindness at not seeing she was throwing away 
her powder and shot. 

But, to return to the party ; a rattling country dance called 
out at once the energies of the piper, the fiddler, and the 
ladies and gentlemen, and left those who had more activity in 
their heads than their heels, to sit on the forms in the back 
ground and exercise their tongues in open scandal of their 
mutual friends and acquaintances under cover of the music, 
which prevented the most vigorous talker from being heard 
further than his or her next-door neighbour. Dr. Growling 
had gone over to Mrs. Gubbins', as desired, and was buried 
deep in gossip. 

"What an extraordinary affair that was about Mies 
0' Grady, doctor." 

" Very, ma'am." 


" In the man's bed she was, I hear." 

" So the story goes, ma'am." 

"And they tell me, doctor, that when her father — that tm- 

culate madman, God keep us from harm ! — said to poor Mrs. 
O'Grady in a great rage, ' Where have you brought up your 
daughters to go to, ma'am?' said he; and she, poor woman, 
said, ' To church, my dear,' thinking it was the different reli- 
gion the Saracen was after; so, says he, 'Church, indeed! 
there's the church she's gone to, ma'am,' says he, turning down 
a quilted counterpane." 

"Are you sure it was not Marseilles, ma'am?" said the 

" Well, whatever it was, ' There's the church she is in/ says 
he, pulling her out of the bed." 

" Out of the bed !" repeated the doctor. 

" Out of the bed, sir !" 

" Then her church was in the diocese of Down? said the 

" That's good, docthor — indeed, that's good. ' She was 
caught in bed,' says I ; and ' it's the diocese of Down' says you : 
faith that's good. I wish the diocese was your own ; for 
you're funny enough to be a bishop, docthor, you lay howld of 

" That's a great qualification for a mitre, ma'am," said the 

" And the poor young man that has got her is not worth a 
farthing, I hear, docthor." 

" Then he must be the curate, ma'am ; though I don't 
think it's a chapel of ease he has got into." 

" Oh ! what a tongue you have, docthor," said she, laugh 
ing ; " faith, you'll kill me.' 

" That's my profession, ma'am. I am a licentiate of the 
Royal College ; but, unfortunately for me, my humanity is an 
overmatch for my science. Phrenologically speaking, my 
f benevolence is large, and my destructiveness and acquisitive- 
ness small." 

" Ah, there you go off on another tack ; and what a funny 
new thing that is you talk of! — that free knowledge, or crow- 
knowledge, or whatever sort of knowledge you call it. And 
there's one thing I want to ask you about : there's a bump 
the ladies have, the gentlemen always laugh at, I remark." 

" That's very rude of them, ma'am," said the doctor drily. 
u Is it in the anterior region, or the — " 

" Docthor, don't talk queer." 

•' I'm only speaking scientifically, ma'am." 

" Well I think your scientific discourse is only an excuse 


for saying impudent things; I mean the back of their 

" I thought so, ma'am." 

"They call it — dear me, I forget — something — motive- 
motive — it's Latin — but I am no scholard, docthor." 

" That's manifest, ma'am." 

" But a lady is not bound to know Latin, docthor." 

" Certainly not, ma'am — nor any other language, except 
that of the eyes." 

Now, this was a wicked hit of the doctor's, for Mrs 
Gubbins squinted frightfully; but Mrs. Gubbins did not know 
that, so she went on. 

"The bump I mean, docthor — is motive something — motive 
— motive — I have it ! — motive-?im." 

" Now, I know what you mean," said the doctor ; " ama- 

" That's it," said Mrs. Gubbins ; " they call it number one, 
sometimes ; I sujrpose amativeness is Latin for number one. 
Now, what does that bump mean ?" 

" Ah, madam," said the doctor, puzzled for a moment to 
give an explanation ; but in a few seconds he answered, 
" That's a beautiful provision of nature. That, ma'am, is the 
organ which makes your sex take compassion on ours."* 

" Wonderful ! " said Mrs. Gubbins ; " but how good 
nature is in giving us provision ! and I don't think there is a 
liner provision county in Ireland than this." 

" Certainly not, ma'am," said the doctor ; — but the moment 
Mrs. Gubbins began to speak of provisions, he was sure she 
would get into a very solid discourse about her own farms ; so 
he left his seat beside her and went over to Mrs. Riley, to see 
what fun could be had in that quarter. 

Her daughter was cutting all sorts of barefaced capers 
about the room, "astonishing the natives," as she was pleased 
to say : and Growling was looking on in amused wonder a£ *Ms 
specimen of vulgar effrontery, whom he had christened " 'i\.e 
Brazen Baggage," the first time he saw her. 

" You are looking at my daughter sir," said the delighted 

w Yes, ma'am," said the doctor, profoundly. 

" She's very young, sir." 

" She'll mend of that, ma'am. We were young once our- 

This was not very agreeable to the mother, who dressed 
rather in a juvenile style. 

* This very ingenious answer was really given by an Irish professor 
to an over-inquisitive lady. 


" I mean, sir, that you must excuse nny little awkwardness 
about her — that all arises out of timidity — she was lost with 
bashfulness till I roused her out of* it — but now I think she is 
beginning to have a little self-possession " 

The doctor was amused, and took a large pinch of snuff, 
he enjoyed the phrase " beginning tc have a little self-posses- 
sion," being applied to the most brazen baggage he ever saw. 

" She's very accomplished, sir," continued the mother. 
" Mister Jew-val (Duval) taitches her dancin', and Musha 
Dunny-ai (Mons. Du Noyer)* French. Misther Low-jeer 
(Logier) hasn't the like of her in his academy on the pianya; 
and as for the harp, you'd think she wouldn't lave a sthring 
in it." 

' She must be a treasure to her teachers, ma'am," said the 

" Faith, you may well say ihreasure, — it costs handfuls o' 
money ; but sure, while there's room for improvement every 
apartment must be attended to, and the vocal apartment is 
filled by Sir John — fifteen shillin's a lesson, no less." 

" What silvery tones she ought to bring out, ma'am, at 
that rate!" 

" Faith, you may say that, sir. It's coining, so it is, with 
them tip-top men, and ruins one a'most to have a daughter ; 
every shake I get out of her is to the tune of a ten-poun' note, 
at least. You shall hear her by and by ; the minit the 
dancm' is over, she shall sing you the ' Bewildhered Maid.' 
Do you know the 'Bewildhered Maid,' sir?" 

"I havn't the honour of her acquaintance, ma'am," said 
the doctor. 

The dancing was soon over, and the mother's threat put 
into execution. Miss Riley was led over to the piano by the 
widow, with the usual protestations that she was hoarse. It 
took some time to get the piano ready, for an extensive 
clearance was to be made from it of cups and saucers, and half- 
empty glasses of negus, before it could be opened ; then, after 
various thrummings, and hummings and hawings, the " Be- 
wildhered Maid" made her appearance in the wildest possible 
manner, and the final shriek was quite worthy of a maniac. 
Loud applause followed, and the wriggling Miss Riley was led 
from the piano by James Reddy, who had stood at the back ot 
her chair, swaying backward and forward to the music, with a 
maudlin expression of sentiment on his face, and a suppressed 

•> own worthy and excellent master, to whom I gladly pay thi 
, ki»dly remembrance. 



exclamation of " B-u*tiful," after every extra shout from the 
young lady. 

Growling listened with an expression of as much dissatis- 
faction as if he had been drinking weak punch. 

" I see you don't like that," said the widow to him, under 
her breath ; " ah, you're too hard, doctor— consider she sun" 
out of good-nature." ° 

" I don't know if it was out of good-nature," said he ; 
'• but I am sure it was out of tune." 

James Reddy led back Miss Riley to her mamma, who was 
much delighted with the open manifestations of "the poet's" 

" She ought to be proud, sir, of your conjunction, I'm sure. 
A poet like you, sir ! — what beautiful rhymes them wor you 
did on the 'lection." 

" A trifle, ma'am — a mere trifle — a little occasional thing." 

" Oh ! but them two beautiful lines — 

' We tread the land that bore us, 
Our green flag glitters o'er us 1' " 

" They are only a quotation, ma'am," said Reddy. 

" Oh, like every man of true genius, sir, you try and 
undervalue your own work ; but call them lines what you like, 
to my taste they are the most beautiful lines in the tiling you 

Reddy did not know what to answer, and his confusion was 
increased by catching old Growling's eye, who was chuckling 
at. the mal-a-propos speech of the flourishing Mrs. Riley. 

" Don't you sing yourself, sir ? " said that lady. 

"To be sure he does," cried the widow Flanagan; "and 
he must give us one of his own." 


" No excuses ; now, James !" 

" Where's Duggan ? " inquired the poetaster, affectedly ; 
" I told him to be here to acccompany me." 

" I attend your muse, sir," said a miserable structure of 
?kin and bone, advancing with a low bow and obsequious 
i'.mile ; this was the poor music-master, who set Reddy's 
rhymes to music as bad, and danced attendance on him every- 

The music-master- fumbled over a hackneyed prelude, to 
show his command of the instrument. 

Miss Riley whispered to her mamma that was out of one 
ef her first books of lessons. 


Mrs. Flanagan, with a seductive smirk, asked, '■ what h 
was going to give them ?" The- poet replied, " a little thin 
of his own,— 'Rosalie; or, the Broken Heart,'— sentimenta., 
but rather sad." 

The musical skeleton rattled his bones against the ivory, 
m a very one, two, three, four symphony ; the poet ran his 
ngers through his hair, pulled up his collar, gave his head a 
unty nod, and commenced : 


Fare thee — fare thee well — alaa, 

Fare— farewe" to thee! 
On pleasure's wings, as dew-drops fade, 

Or honey stings the bee, 
My heart is as sad as a black stono 

Under the blue sea. 

Oh, Rosalie ! Oh, Roaalie ( 

As ruder rocks with envy glow, 

Thy coral lips to see, 
£o the weeping waves more briny grow 

With my salt tears for thee ! 
My heart is as sad as a black stone 

Under the blue sea. 

Oh, Rosalie! Oh, Rosalie! 

After this brilliant specimen, of the mysteriously-senti- 
mental and imaginative school was sufficiently applauded,, 
dancing was recommenced, and Reddy seated himself beside 
Mrs. Riley, the incense of whose praise was sweet in his 
nostrils. " Oh, you have a soul for poetry indeed, sir," said 
the lady. " I was bewildered with all your beautiful idays ; 
that ' honey stings the bee' is a beautiful itfay — so expressive 
of the pains and pleasures of love. Ah ! I was the most 
romantic creature myself once, Mister Reddy, though you 
wouldn't think it now ; but the cares of the world and a family 
takes the shine out of us. I remember when the men used to 
be making hats in my father's establishment — for my father 
was the most extensive hatter in Dublin — I don't know if you 
knew my father was a hatter; but you know, sir, manufactures 
must be followed, and that's no reason why people shouldn't 
enjoy po'thry and refinement. Well I was going to tell you 
how romantic I was, and when the men were making the hats 
— I don't know whether you ever saw them making hats — " 

Reddy declared he never did. 


" Well, it's like the witches round the iron-pot iii Machtth, 
did you ever see Kemble in Macbeth f Oh! he'd make your 
blood freeze, though the pit is so hot you wouldn't have a 
dhry rag on you. But to come to the hats. When they're 
making them, they have hardly any crown to them at all, and 
they are all with great sprawling wide flaps to them ; well, 
the moment I ckipt my eyes on one of them, I thought of a 
Spanish nobleman directly, with his slouched hat and black 
feathers like a hearse. Yes, I assure you, the broad hat always 
brought to my mind a Spanish noble or an Italian noble (that 
would do as well, you know), or a robber, or a murderer, 
which is all the same thing." 

Reddy could not conceive a hat manufactory as a favourable 
nursery for romance, but as the lady praised his song, he 
listened complacently to her hatting. 

"And that's another beautiful iday, sir," continued the 
lady, "where you make the rocks jealous of each other — that's 
so beautiful to bring in a bit of nature into a metaphysic that 

" You flatter me, ma'am," said Reddy ; "but if I might speak 
of my own work — that is, if a man may ever speak of his own 
work — " 

" And why not, sir ?" asked Mrs. Riley, with a business- 
like air ; " who has so good a right to speak of the work as the 
man who done it, and knows what's in it ? " 

" That's a very sensible remark of yours, ma'am, and I will 
therefore take leave to say, that the idea / am proudest of, is 
the dark and heavy grief of the heart being compared to a black 
stone, and its depth of misery implied by the sea." 

" Thrue for you," said Mrs. Riley ; " and the blue sea — ah ! 
that did'nt escape me ; that's an elegant touch — the black 
stone and the blue sea ; and black and blue, such a beautiful 
conthrast ! " 

" I own," said Reddy, " I attempted in that, the bold and 
daring style of expression which Byron has introduced." 

" Oh, he's a fine pote certainly, but he's not moral, sir ; and 
I'm afeard to let my daughter read such conbustibles." 
"But he's grand," said Reddy ; " for instance — 

• She walks in beauty like the night. 

"How fine!" 

" But how wicked ! " said Mrs. Riley. "I don't like that 
night-walking style of poetry at all, so say no more about it; 
we'll talk of something else. You admire music. I'm sure." 

" I adore it, ma'am.'' 


* Do you like the piano ?" 

" Oh, ma'am ! I could live under a piano." 

" My daughter plays the piano beautiful." 

" Charmingly." 

" Oh, but if you heerd her play the harp, you'd think she 
wouldn't lave a sthring on it" (this was Mrs. Riley's favourite 
bit of praise) ; "and a beautiful harp it is, one of Egan's double 
action, all over goold, and cost eighty guineas ; Miss Cheese 
chuse it for her. Do you know Miss Cheese? she's as 
plump as a partridge, with a voice like a lark ; she sings 
elegant duets. Do you ever sing duets?" 

" Not often." 

" Ah ! if you could hear Pether Dowling sing duets with 
my daughter ! he'd make the hair stand straight on your head 
with the delight. Oh, he's a powerful singer !' you never heerd 
the like ; he runs up and down as fast as a lamplighter ; — and 
the beautiful turns he gives ; oh ! I never heerd any one sing a 
second like Pether. I declare he sings a second to that degree 
that you'd think it was the first, and never at a loss for a shake ; 
and then off he goes in a run, that you'd think he'd never 
come back ; but he does bring it back into the tune again with 
as nate a fit as a Limerick glove. Oh ! I never heerd a singer 
like Pether!!!" 

There is no knowing how much more Mrs. Riley would 
have said about " Pether," if the end of the dance had not cut 
her eloquence short by permitting the groups of dancers, as 
they promenaded, to throw in their desultory discourse right 
and left, and so break up anything like a consecutive conver- 

But let it not be supposed that all Mrs. Flanagan's guests 
were of the Gubbins and Riley stamp. There were some ol 
the better class of the country people present ; intelligence 
and courtesy in the one sex, and gentleness and natural grace 
in the other, making a society not to be ridiculed in the mass, 
though individual instances of folly and ignorance and purse- 
proud effrontery were amongst it. 

But to Growling every phase of society afforded gratifica- 
tion ; and while no one had a keener relish for sujb scenes as 
the one in which we have just witnessed him, the ^earned and 
the courteous could be met with equal weapons by titt?; doctoi 
when he liked. 

Quitting the dancing-room, he went into the little di'»«ving« 
room, where a party of a very different stamp was engaged in 
conversation. Edward O'Connor and the " dear English 
captain,'' as Mrs. Flanagan called him, were deep in an in- 
teresting discussion about the relative practices in Ireland and 


England on the occasions of elections and trials, and most 
other public events ; and O'Connor and two or three listeners 
— amongst whom was a Mr. Monk, whose daughters, remark- 
ably nice girls, were of the party — were delighted with the 
feeling tone in which the Englishman spoke of the poorer 
classes of Irish, and how often the excesses into which they 
sometimes fell were viewed through an exaggerated or dis- 
torted medium, and what was frequently mere exuberance of 
spirit pronounced asd punished as riot. 

" I never saw a people over whom those in authority re- 
quire more good temper," remarked the captain. 

" Gentleness goes a long way with them," said Edward. 

" And violence never succeeds," added Mr. Monk. 

" You are of opinion, then," said the soldier, " they are 
not to be forced ?" 

" Except to do what they like," chimed in Growling. 

" That's a very Irish sort af coercion," said the captain, 

"And therefore fit for Irishmen," said Growling ; "and I 
never knew an intelligent Englishman yet, who came to 
Ireland, who did not find it out. Paddy has a touch of the 
pig in him — he won't be driven ; but you may coax him a long 
way : or if you appeal to his reason — for he happens to have 
such a thing about him — you may persuade him into what is 
right if you take the trouble." 

" By Jove !" said the captain, " it is not easy to argue with 
Paddy ; the rascals are so ready with quip, and equivoque, and 
queer answers, that they generally get the best of it in talk, 
however fallacious may be their argument; and when you 
think you have Pat in a corner and escape is inevitable, he's 
off without your knowing how he slipped through your fingers." 

When the doctor joined the conversation, Edward, knowing 
his powers, gave up the captain into his hands and sat down 
by the side of Miss Monk, who had just entered from the 
dancing-room, and retired to a chair in the corner. 

She and Edward soon got engaged in a conversation parti- 
cularly interesting to him. She spoka of having lately met 
Fanny Dawson, and was praising her in such terms of affec- 
tionate admiration, that Edward hung upon every word with 
delight. I \jiow not if Miss Monk was aware of Edward's 
devotion la Jiat quarter before, but she could not look upon 
the hi"-,*,!, #ftugh somewhat sad smile which arched his ex- 
press) "- Wi«. ath, and the dilated eye which beamed as her praises 
were uttered, without being then conscious that Fanny Dawson 
had ma le him captive. 

She war. pleased, and continued the conversation witJ» 'hat 

HA?)PV ANDY. 219 

inherent pleasui e a woman has in touching a man's heart, even 
though it be not on her own account ; and it was done with 
tact and delicacj which only women possess, and which is so 
refined that the lougher nature of man is insensible of its 
drift and influence, and he is betrayed by a net whose meshes 
are too fine for his perception. Edward O'Connor never 
dreamt that Miss Monk saw he was in love with the subject of 
their discourse. While they were talking, the merry hostess 
entered and the last words the captain uttered fell upon her, and then followed a reply from Growling, saying that 
Irishmen were as hard to catch as quicksilver. "Ay, and as 
hard to keep as any other silver," said the widow ; " don't 
believe what these wild Irish fellows tell you of themselves, 
:bey are all mad divils alike — you steady Englishmen are the 
safe men — and the girls know it. And faith, if you try them," 
added she, laughing, " I don't know any one more likely to 
have luck with them than yourself; for, 'pon my conscience, 
captain, we all doat on you since you would not shoot the 
people the other day." i 

There was a titter among the girls at this open avowal. 

" Ah, why wouldn't I say it ?" exclaimed she, laughing, " I 
am not a mealy-mouthed miss ; sure J may tell truth ; and I 
wouldn't trust one o' ye," she added, with a very significant 
nod of the head at the gentlemen, " except the captain. Yes 
— I'd trust one more — I'd trust Mister O'Connor ; I think he 
really could be true to a woman." 

The words fell sweetly upon his ear; the expression of 
trust in his faith at that moment, even from the laughing 
widow, was pleasing ; for his heart was full of the woman he 
adored, and it was only by long waiting and untiring fidelity 
she could ever become his. 

He bowed courteously to the compliment the hostess paid 
him ; and she, immediately taking advantage of his acknowledg- 
ment, said that after having paid him such a pretty compliment 
he could'nt refuse her to sing a song. Edward never liked to 
sing in mixed companies, and was about making some objec- 
tion, when the widow interrupted him with one of those Irish 
'• Ah, low's,'' so hard to resist. "Besides, all the noisy pack 
are in the dancing-room, or indeed I wouldn't ask you ; and 
here there's not one won't be charmed with you. Ah, look at 
Miss Monk, there — I know she's dying to hear you ; and see 
all the ladies hanging on your lips absolutely. Can you refuse 
me after that, now ?" 

It was true that in the small room where they Bat there 
were only those who were worthy of better things than 
Edward would have ventured en to the many ; and filled wit> 


the tender and passionate sentiment his conversation with Miss 
Monk had awakened, one of those effusions of deep, and 
earnest, and poetic feeling which love had prompted to hi» 
muse, rose to his lips, and he began to sing. 

All were silent, for the poet singer was a favourite, and all 
knew with what touching expression he gave his composition s ; 
but now the mellow tones of his voice seemed to vibrate with 
a feeling in more than common unison with the words, and his 
dark earnest eyes beamed with a devotion of which she who 
was the object might be proud. 

% ted %t gMitfcs si %«. 

How sweet is the hour we give, 

When fancy may wander free, 
To the friends who in memory live ! — 

For then I remember thee! 
Then wing'd, like the dove from the ark, 

My heart, o'er a stormy sea, 
Brings back to my lonely bark 

A leaf that reminds of thee ! 

But still does the sky look dark, 

The waters still deep and wide; 
Oh ! when may my lonely bark 

In peace on the shore abide? 
But through the future far, 

Dark though my course may be, 
Thou art my guiding star! 

My heart still turns to thee 

When I see thy friends I smile, 

I sigh when I hear thy name ; 
But they cannot tell the while 

Whence the smile or the sadness came j 
Vainly the world may deem 

The cause of my sighs they know : 
The breeze that stirs the stream 

Knows not the depth below. 

Before the first verse of the song was over, the entrance \A 
the room was filled with eager listeners, and, at its conclusion, 
a large proportion of the company from the dancing- room had 
crowded round the door, attracted by the rich voice of the 
singer, and fascinated into silence by tie charm of hia song. 

HAND* tNDY. 221 

Perhaps, after mental qualities, the most valuable gift a man 
can have is a fine voice ; it at once commands attention, and 
may therefore be ranked in a man's possession as highly as 
beauty in a woman's. 

In speaking thus of voice, I do not allude to the power of 
singing, but the mere physical quality of a fine voice, which in 
the bare utterance of the simplest words is pleasing, but be- 
coming the medium for the interchange of higher thoughts, is 
irresistible. Superadded to this gift, which Edward possessed, 
the song he sang had meaning in it which could reach the 
hearts of all his auditory, though its poetry might be appre- 
ciated by but few ; its imagery grew upon a stem whose root 
was in every bosom, and the song that possesses this quality, 
whatever may be its defects, contains not only the elements of 
future fame, but of immediate popularity. Startling was the 
contrast between the silence the song had produced and the 
simultaneous clapping of hands outside the door when it was 
over ; not the poor plaudit of a fashionable assembly, whose 
"bravo" is an attenuated note of admiration, struggling into a 
sickly existence and expiring in a sigh ; applause of so suspi- 
cious a character, that no one seems desirous of owning it — a 
ieeble forgery of satisfaction which people think it disgraceful 
to be caught uttering. The clapping was not the plaudits of 
high-bred hands, whose sound is like the fluttering of small 
wings, just enough to stir gossamer — but not the heart. No ; 
such was not the applause which followed Edward's song ; he 
had the outburst of heartwarm and unsophisticated satisfac- 
tion unfettered by chilling convention. Most of his hearers 
did not know that it was disgraceful to admit being too well 
pleased, and the poor innocents really opened their mouth? 
and clapped their hands. Oh, fie ! tell it not in Grosvenor- 

And now James Reddy contrived to be asked to sing ; the 
coxcomb, not content with his luck in being listened to before, 
panted for such another burst of applause as greeted Edward, 
whose song he had no notion was any better than his own ; the 
puppy fancied his rubbish of the " black stone under the blue 
sea" partook of a grander character of composition, and that 
while Edward's "breeze" but "stirred the stream," he had 
fathomed the ocean. But a " heavy blow and great discou- 
ragement" was in store for Master James, for as he com- 
menced a love ditty which he called by the fascinating title of 
" The Rose of Silence," and verily believed would have enrap- 
tured every woman in the room, a powerful voice, richly 
flavoured with the brogue, shouted forth outside the door, 
u Ma'am, if you plazc. supper's sarved." The effect was majji- 

222 HANDY AND7. 

cal ; a rush was made to supper by the crowd in the doorway, 
and every gentleman in the little drawing-room offered his area 
to a lady and led her off without the smallest regard to 
Reddy's singing. 

His look was worth anything as he saw himself thus unce- 
remoniously deserted and likely soon to be left in sole posses- 
sion of the room; the old doctor was enchanted with his 
vexation ; and when James ceased to sing, as the last couple 
were going, the doctor interposed his request that the song 
should be finished. 

"Don't stop, my dear fellow," said the doctor ; "that's the 
best song I have heard a long time, and you must indulge me 
by finishing it — that's a gem. 

" Why, you see, doctor, they have all gone to supper." 

" Yes, and the devil choke them with it," said Growling, 
"for their want of taste ; but never mind that; one judicious 
listener is worth a crowd of such fools, you'll admit ; so sit 
down again and sing for me." 

The doctor seated himself as he spoke, and there he kept 
Reddy, whom he knew was very fond of a good supper, singing 
away for the bare life, with only one person for audience, and 
that one humbugging him. The scene was rich ; the gravity 
with which the doctor carried on the quiz was admirable, and 
the gullibility of the coxcomb who was held captive by his 
affected admiration exquisitely absurd and almost past belief; 
even Growling himself wa amazed, as he threw in a raptu- 
rous "charming" or " bravissimo," at the egregious folly of his 
dupe, who still continued singing, while the laughter of the 
supper-room, and the inviting clatter of its knives and forks 
were ringing in his ear. When Reddy concluded, the doctor 
asked might he venture to request the last verse again ; "for," 
continued he, " there is a singular beauty of thought and feli- 
city of expression in its numbers, leaving the mind unsatisfied 
with but one hearing ; once more, if you please." 

Poor Reddy repeated the last verse. 

''Very charming, indeed !" said the doctor. 

" You really like it ?" said Reddy. 

" Like ?" said the doctor — " sir, like is a faint expression 
01 what I think of that song. Moore had better look to his 
laurels, sir !" 

" Oh, doctor !" 

" Ah, you know yourself," said Growling. 

" Then that last, doctor ?" said Reddy, inquiringly. 

"Is your most successful achievement, sir; there is a 
mysterious shadowing forth <]<? something in it which is very 

" You like it better than the ' Black Stone ?' " 

"Pooh! sir; the 'Black Stone,' if I may be allowed an 
image, is but ordinary paving, while that ' Rose of Silence' of 
of yours might strew the path to Parnassus." 

" And is it not strange, doctor," said Reddy, in a reproach- 
ful tone, " that them people should be, insensible to that song, 
and leave the room while I was singing it ?" 

"Too good for them, sir — above their comprehension." 

" Besides, so rude !" said Reddy. 

" Oh, my dear friend," said the doctor, " when you know 
more of the world, you'll find out that an appeal from the 
lower house to the upper," and he changed his hand from the 
region of his waistcoat to his head as he spoke, " is most 

" True, doctor," said Reddy, with a smile ; " and suppose 
ice go to supper now." 

"Wait a moment," said Growling, holding his button. 
" Did you ever try your hand at an epic ?" 

" No, I can't say that I did." 

" I wish you vvuii." 

" You flatter mc, doctor ; but don't you think we had better 
go to supper ?" 

"Ha!" said the doctor, "your own House of Commons is 
sending up an appeal — eh ?" 

" Decidedly, doctor." 

" Then you see, my dear friend, you can't wonder at those 
poor inferior beings hurrying oif to indulge their gross appe- 
tites, when a man of genius like you is not insensible to the same 
call. Never wonder again at people leaving your song for 
supper, Master James," said the doctor, resting his arm on 
Reddy, and sauntering from the room. " Never wonder again 
at the triumph of supper over song, for the Swan of Avon 
himself would have no chance against roast ducks." 

Reddy smacked his lips at the word ducks, and the savoury 
odour of the supper-room which they approached heightened 
his anticipation of an onslaught on ont of the aforesaid tempt- 
ing birds; but, ah! when he entered the room, skeletons of 
ducks there were, but nothing more ; the work of demolition 
had been In able hands, and the doctor's lachrymose exclama- 
tion of " the devil a duck !" found a hollow echo under Reddy's 
waistcoat. Round the room that deluded minstrel went, seek- 
ing what he might devour, but his voyage of discovery for any 
hot fowl was profitless ; and Growling in silent delight wit- 
nessed his disappointment. 

' Come, sir," said the doctor, " there's plenty of punch left, 
however — I'll take a glass with you, and drink success to your 


next song, for the last is all I could wish ;" and so indeed it 
«• as, for it enabled him to laugh at the poetaster, and cheat him 
out of his supper. 

" Ho, ho !" said Murtough Murphy, who approached the 
door ; " you have fou~d out the punch is good, eh ? faith it is 
that same, and I'll take another glass of it with you before I 
go, for the night is cold." 

" Are you going so soon ?" asked Growling, as he clinked 
his glass against the attorney's. 

" Whisht !'' said Murphy ; " not a word — I'm slipping away 
after Dick the Divil ; we have a trifle of work in hand, quite 
in his line, and it is time to set about it. Good-bye, you'll hear 
more of it to-morrow — snug's the word." 

Murphy stole away, for the open departure of so merry a 
blade would not have been permitted, and in the hall he found 
Dick mounting a large top-coat, and muffling up. 

" Good people are scarce, you think, Dick," said Murphy. 

" I'd recommend you to follow the example, for the night is 
bitter cold, I can tell you." 

" And as dark as a coal-hole," said Murphy, as he opened 
the door and looked out. 

" No matter, I have got a dark lanthorn," said Dick, 
" which we can use when required ; make haste, the gig is 
round the corner, and the little black mare will roll us over in 
no time." 

They left the house quietly, as he spoke, and started on a 
bit cf mischief which demands a separate chapter. 


The night was pitch dark, and on rounding the adjacen'. 
orner no vehicle could be seen ; but a peculiar whistle from 
ick was answered by the sound of approaching wheels and 
the rapid footfalls of a horse, mingled with the light rattle of 
a smart gig. On the vehicle coming up, Dick took his little 
niare, that was blacker than the night, by the head, the apron 
of the gig was thrown down, and out jumped a smart servaat 

" You have the horse ready too, Billy ?" 

" Yis, sir," said Billy, touching his hat. 

4 Then follow ; and keep up with me, remember ." 



" Come to he? head, here," and he patted the little mare's 
neck as lie spoke with a caressing "whoa," which was an- 
swered bv a lo\r neigh of satisfaction, while the impatient 
nawing of her fore foot shewed the animal's desire to start. 
" What an impatient little devil she is," said Dick, as he 
mounted the gig ; " I'll get- in first, Murphy, as I'm going to 
to drive — now up with you— hook on the apron — that's it — are 
you all right ?" 

" Quite," said Murphy. 
_ " Then you be into your saddle and after us, Billy," said 
Dick ; " and now let her go." 

Billy gave the little black mare her head, and away she 
went, at a slapping pace, the fire from the road answer'ng the 
rapid strokes of her nimble feet. The servant then mounted a 
horse which was tied to a neighbouring palisade, and had tc 
gallop for it to come up with his master, who was driving with 
a swiftness almost fearful, considering the darkness of the 
night and the narrowness of the road he had to traverse, for 
he was making the best of his course by cross-ways to an 
adjacent road-side inn, where some non-resident electors were 
expected to arrive that night by a coach from Dublin , ior the 
county town had every nook and cranny occupied, and this 
inn was the nearest point where they could get any accom- 

Now don't suppose that they were electors whom Murphy 
and Dick in their zeal for their party were going over to greet 
with hearty welcomes and bring up to the poll the next day. 
By no means. They were the friends of the opposite party, 
Hnd it was with the design of retarding their movements that 
this night's excursion was undertaken. These electors were a 
batch of plain citizens from Dublin, whom the Scatterbrain 
interest had induced to leave the peace and quiet of the city 
to tempt the wilds of the country at that wildest of times — 
during a contested election ; and a night coach was freighted 
inside and out with the worthy cits, whose aggregate voices 
would be of immense importance the next day ; for the contest 
was close, the county nearly polled out, and but two days 
more for the struggle. Now, to intercept these plain unsus- 
pecting men was the object of Murphy, whose well-supplied 
information had discovered to him this plan of the enemy, 
which he set about countermining. As they rattled over the 
Tough by-roads, many a laugh did the merry attorney and the 
untameable Dick the Devil exchange, as the probable success 
o: their scheme was canvassed, and fresh expedients devised to 
meet the possible impediments which might interrupt them. 


As they topped a hill, Murphy pointed out to his companion a 
moving light in the plain beneath. 

" That's the coach, Dick — there are the lamps, we're just in 
time — spin down the hill, my boy — let me get in as they're at 
nipper, and faith they'll want it, after coming off a coach such 
a night as this, to say nothing of some of them being aldermen 
in expectancy perhaps, and of course obliged to play trencher- 
men as often as they can, as a requisite rehearsal for the parts 
they must hereafter fill," 

In fifteen minutes more Dick pulled up before a small cabin 
within a quarter of a mile of the inn, and the mounted servant 
tapped at the door which was immediately opened, and a pea- 
sant, advancing to the gig, returned the civil salutation with 
whicl» 'jlck greeted his approach. 

" I wanted to be sure you were ready, Barny." 

" Oh, do you think I'd fail you, Misther Dick, your 
honour ?" 

" I thought you might be asleep, Barny." 

" Not when you bid me wake, sir ; and there's a nice fire 
ready for you, and as fine a dhrop o' potteen as ever tickled 
your tongue, sir." 

" You're the lad, Barny ! — good fellow — I'll be back with 
you by and b)' — * and off whipped Dick again. 

After going about a quarter of a mile further, he pulled 
up, alighted with Murphy from the gig, unharnessed the little 
black mare, and then overturned the gig into the ditch. 

" That's as natural as life," said Dick. 

" What an escape of my neck I've had!" said Murphy. 

" Are you much hurt ?" said Dick. 

" A trifle lame only," said Murphy, laughing and limping. 

" There was a great boccagh* lost in you, Murphy ; wait ; 
let me rub a handful of mud on your face — there — you have 
a very upset look, 'pon my soul," said Dick, as he flashed the 
light of his lantern on him for a moment, and laughed at 
Murphy scooping the mud out of his eye, where Dick bad pur- 
postly planted it. 

" Devil take you," said Murtough ; " that's too natural." 

" There's nothing like looking your part," said Dick. 

" Well, I may as well complete my attire," said Murtough, 
so he lay down in the road and took a roll in the mud ; " that 
will do " said he ; " and now, Dick, go back to Barny and the 
mountain dew, while I storm the camp of the Philistines ; I 
think in a couple of hours you may be on the look-out for mej 
I'll signd you from the window, so now good-by .;" and Mur- 

* Lame beggar 


pny, leading the mare, proceeded to the inn, wnile Dick, with 
a partiag " Luck to you, my boy," turned back to the cottage 
of Barny. 

The coach had set down 6ix inside and ten out passengers 
(all voters) about ten minutes before Murphy marched up to 
the inn door, leading the black mare, and calling " ostler " most 
lustily. His call being answered for " the beast," " the man" 
next demanded attention ; and the landlord wondered all the 
wonders he could cram into a short speech, at seeing Misther 
Murphy, sure, at such a time ; and the sonsy landlady, too, 
was all lamentations for his illigant coat and his poor eye, sure, 
all ruined with the mud : — and what was it at all? an upset, 
was it? oh, wirra! and wasn't it lucky he wasn't killed, and 
they without a spare bed to lay him out dacent if he was — 
sure, wouldn't it be horrid for his body to be only on sthraw in 
the barn, instead of the best feather-bed in the house ; and, 
indeed, he'd be welcome to it, only the gintlemen from town 
had them all engaged. 

"Well, dead or alive, I must stay here to-night, Mrs. 
Kelly, at all events." 

"And what will you do for a bed?" 

" A shake down in the parlour, or a stretch on a sofa will 
do ; my gig is stuck fast in a ditch — my mare tired — ten miles 
from home— cold night, and my knee hurt." Murphy limped 
as he spoke. 

" Oh ! your poor knee," said Mrs. Kelly ; " I'll put a dhrop 
o' whisky and brown paper on it, sure — " 

"And what gentlemen are these, Mrs. Kelly, who have so 
filled your house ?" 

" Gintlemen that came by the coach a while agone, and 
supping in the pari ur now, sure." 

" Would you give my compliments, and ask would they 

allow me, under the present peculiar circumstances, to join 

em ; and in the meantime, send somebody down the road to 

ke the cushions out of my gig for there is no use in attempt- 

g to get the gig out till morning." 

" Sartinly, Misther Murphy, we'll send for the cushions ; 
ut as for the gentleman, they are all on the other side." 

" What other side ?" 

" The Honourable's voters, sure." 

"Pooh! is that all?" said Murphy,— "I don't mind that, 
I've no objection on that account ; besides, they need not 
know who / am," and he gave the landlord a knowing wink, to 
which the landlord as knowingly returned another. 

The message to the gentlemen was delivered, and Murphy 
was immediately requested to join their party; this was all he 


wanted, and he played off his powers of diversion on the inno- 
cent citizens so successfully, that before supper was half over 
they thought themselves in luck to have fallen in with such a 
chance acquaintance. Murphy fired away jokes, repartees, 
anecdotes, and country gossip, to their delight ; and when the 
eatables were disposed of, he started them on the punch-drink- 
ing tack afterwards so cleverly, that he hoped to see three parts 
of them tipsy before they retired to rest. 

" Do you feel your knee better now, sir ?" asked one of the 
party, of Murphy. 

" Considerably, thank you ; whisky punch, sir, is about the 
best cure for bruises or dislocations a man can take." 

" I doubt that, sir," said a little matter-of-fact man, who 
had now interposed his reasonable doubts for the twentieth 
time during Murphy's various extravagant declarations, and 
the interruption only made Murphy romance the more. 

" You speak of your fiery Dublin stuff, sir, but our country 
whisky is as mild as milk, and far more wholesome ; then, sir, 
our fine air alone would cure half the complaints without a 
grain of physic." 

" I doubt that, sir !" said the little man. 

" I assure you, sir, a friend of my own from town came down 
here last spring on crutches, and from merely following a 
light whisky diet and sleeping with his window open, he was 
able to dance at the race ball in a fortnight ; as for this knee 
of mine, it's a trifle, though it was a bad upset too." 

"How did it happen, sir? Was it your horse— or your 
harness — or your gig — or — " 

" None o' them, sir ; it was a Banshee." 

"A Banshee!" said the little man ; " what's that ?" 

" A peculiar sort of supernatural creature that is common 
here, sir. She was squatted down on one side of the road and 
my mare shied at her, and being a spirited little thing she 
attempted to jump the ditch and missed it in the dark." 

"Jump a ditch, with a gig after her, sir?" said the 
little man. 

" Oh, common enough to do that here, sir ; she'd have done 
it easy in the daylight, but she could not measure her distance 
in the dark, and bang she went into the ditch : but it's a trifle, 
after all. I am generally run over four or five times a year." 

" And you alive to tell it !" said the little man, incre- 

" It's hard to kill us here, sir, we are used to accidents.' 

" Well, the worst accident I ever heard of," said one of the 
citizens, " happened to a friend of mine, who went to visit a 
friend of his on a Sundav, and all the family happened to be at 

HANDY AND?. 229 

church; so on driving into the yard there was no one to take 
his horse, therefore he undertook the office of ostler himself; 
but being unused to the duty, he most incautiously took off the 
horse's bridle before unyoking him from his gig, and the ani- 
mal, making a furious plunge forward — my friend being befpre 
him at the time — the shaft of the gig was driven through his 
body, and into the coach-house gate behind him, and stuck so 
fast that the horse could not drag it out after; and in this 
dreadful situation they remained until the family returned 
from church, and saw the awful occurrence. A servant was 
despatched for a doctor, and the shaft was disengaged, and 
drawn out of the man's body — just at the pit of the stomach ; 
he was laid on a bed, and every one thought of course he must, 
die at once, but he didn't ; and the doctor came next day, and 
he wasn't dead — did what he could for him — and, to make a 
long story short,, sir, the man recovered.'' 

" Pooh ! pooh !" said the diminutive doubter, 

"It's true," said the narrator. 

" I make no doubt of it, sir," said Murphy ; " I know a 
more extraordinary case of recovery myself." 

" I beg your pardon, sir," said the cit ; " I have not finished 
my story yet, for the most extraordinary part of the story re- 
mains to be told ; my friend, sir, was a very sickly man before 
the accident happened — a very sickly man, and after that acci- 
dent be became a hale healthy man. What do you think of 
that, sir?" 

" It does not surprise me in the least, sir," said Murphy j 
I can account for it readily." 

" Well, sir, I never heard it accounted for, though I 
know it to be true ; I should like to hear how you account 
for it." 

" Very simply, sir," said Murphy ; " don't you perceive tha 
man discovered a mine of health by a shaft being sunk in the 
fit of his stomach." 

Murphy's punning solution of the cause of cure was merrily 
received by the company, whose critical taste was not of that 
affected nature which despises/ew de mots, and ivitt not be satis- 
tied under a jeu d esprit; the little doubting man alone refused 
to be pleased. 

" I doubt the value of a pun always, sir. Dr. Johnson 
said, sir — " 

" I know," said Murphy ; " that the man wno would make 
a pun would pick a pocket ; that's old, sir, — tot is dearlj 
remembered by all those who cannot make puns themselves." 

"Exactly," said one of the party they called Wiggins. 
M It is the old story of the fox and the grapes. Did you ever 


hear, sir, the story of the fox and the grapes ? The fox one 
day was " 

"Yes, yes," said Murphy, who, fond of absurdity as he 
was, could not stand the fox and the grapes by way of some- 
thing new. 

" They're sour, said the fox." 

" Yes," said Murphy, " a capital story." 

" Oh, them fables is so good I" said Wiggins. 

" All nonsense !" said the diminutive contradictor. 

15 Nonsense, nothing but nonsense ; the ridiculous stuff of 
t)irds and beasts speaking ! As if any one could believe such 

" I do — firmly — for one," said Murphy. 

" You do ?" said the little man. 

" I do — and do you know why ?" 

" I cannot indeed conceive," said the little man, with a 
bitter grin. 

"It is, sir, because I myself know a case that occurred in 
this very country of a similar nature." 

" Do you want to make me believe you knew ~ fox that 
spoke, sir ?" said the mannikin, almost rising into anger. 

"Many, sir," said Murphy, "many." 

" Well ! after that !" said the little man. 

" But the case I immediately allude to is not of a fox, but a 
cat," said Murphy. 

" A cat ? Oh, yes — -to be sure — a cat speak, indeed !' 
said the little gentleman. 

" It is a fact, sir," said Murphy ; " and if the company 
would not object to my relating the story, I will state the 
parti cukrs." 

The proposal was received with acclamation ; and Murphy, 
m great enjoyment of the little man's annoyance, cleared hi3 
throat, and made all the preparatory demonstrations of a regu- 
lar raconteur; but, before he began, he recommended the gen- 
tlemen to mix fresh tumblers all round that they might have 
nothing to do but listen and drink silently. " For of all things 
in the world," said Murtough, " I hate a song or a story to be 
interrupted by the rattle of spoons." 

They obeyed ; and while they are mixing their punch, we 
will just turn over a fresh page, and devote a new Chapter to 
the following 




gt PtirfrcIIotts ^cgMib of ®om (ffflmrot'a €ai 

" Titere was a man in these parts, sir, you must know, called 
Tom Connor, and he had a cat that was equal to any dozen of 
rat-traps, and he was proud of the baste, and with rayson ; for 
she was worth her weight in goold to him in saving his sacks of 
meal from the thievery of the rats and mice ; for Tom was an 
extensive dealer in corn, and influenced the rise and fall of 
that article in the market, to the extent of a full dozen of 
sacks at a time, which he either kept or sold, as the spirit of 
free trade or monopoly came over him. Indeed, at one time, 
Tom had serious thoughts of applying to the government for a 
military force to protect his granary when there was a 
threatened famine in the county." 

" Pooh ! pooh ! sir," said the matter-of-fact little man : " as if 
a dozen sicks could be of the smallest consequence in a whole 
county — pooh ! pooh ! " 

' ; Well, sir," said Murphy, '■' I can't help if you don't be- 
lieve; but it's truth what I am telling you, and pray don't 
interrupt me, though you may not believe ; by the time the 
story's done you'll have heard more wonderful things than that, 
— aud besides, remember you're a stranger in these parts, and 
have no notion of the extraordinary things, physical, meta- 
physeal, and magical, which constitute the idiosyncrasy of 
rural destiny." 

The little man did not know the meaning of Murphy's last 
sentence — nor Murphy either ; but having stopped the little 
/mn's throat with big words, he proceeded. 

" This cat, sir, you must know, was a great pet, and was so 
up to everything, that Tom swore she was a'most like a Christian, 
»nly she couldn't speak, and had so sensible a look in her eyes, 
that he was sartin sure the cat knew every word that was said 
to her. Well, she used to sit by him at breakfast every morn- 
ing, and the eloquent cock of her tail, as she used to rub against 
his leg, said, * Give me some milk, Tom Connor,' as piain as 
print, and the plenitude of her purr afterwards spoke 
» gratitude beyond language. Well, one morning, Tom was 

232 HANDY AIs'DY. 

going to the neighbouring town to market, and he had pro- 
mised the wife to bring home shoes to the childre' out o' the 
price of the corn; and sure enough, before he sat down to 
breakfast, there was Tom taking the measure of the children's 
feet, by cutting notches on a bit of stick; and the wife gave 
him so many cautions about getting a ' nate fit ' for ' Billy's purty 
feet,' that Tom, in his anxiety to nick the closest possible 
measure, cut off the child's toe. That disturbed the harmony 
of the party, and Tom was obliged to breakfast alone, while 
the mother was endeavoring to cure Billy; in short, trying to 
make a heal of his toe. Well, sir, all the time Tom was taking 
measure for the shoes, the cat was observing him with that 
luminous peculiarity of eye for which her tribe is remarkable ; 
and when Tom sat down to breakfast the cat rubbed up against 
him more vigorously than usual ; but Tom, being bewildered 
between his expected gain in corn and the positive loss of his 
child's toe, kept never minding her, until the cat, with a sort of 
caterwauling .growl, gave Tom a dab of her claws, that weni 
clean through his leathers, and a little further. ' Wow ! ' says 
Tom, with a jump, clapping his hand on the part, and rubbing 
it, ' by this and that, you drew the blood out o' me,' says Tom ; 
* you wicked divil — tish ! — go along ! ' says he, making a kick at 
her. With that the cat gave a reproachful look at him, and 
her eyes glared just like a pair of mail-coach lamps in a fog 
With that, sir, the cat, with a mysterious 'mi-ow,' fixed a 
most penetrating glance on Tom, and distinctly uttered his name. 

" Tom felt every hair on his head as stiff as a pump handle ; 
and scarcely crediting his ears, he returned a searching look 
at the cat, who very quietly proceeded in a sort of nasal twang — 

" ' Tom Connor/ says she. 

" ' The Lord be good to me !' says Tom, • if it isn't spakin' 
she is !' 

" ' Tom Connor,' says she again. 

" ' Yes, ma'am,' says Tom. 

" ' Come here,' says she ; ' whisper — I want to talk to you, 
Tom,' says she, ' the laste taste in private,' says she — rising 
on her hams, and beckoning him with her paw out o' the door, 
with a wink and a toss o' the head aiqual to a milliner. 

" Well, as you may suppose, Tom didn't know whether he 
was on his head or his heels, but he followed the cat, and off 
she went and squatted herself under the hedge of a little pad- 
dock at the back of Tom's house ; and as he came round the 
corner, she held up her paw again, and laid it on her mouth, as 
much as to say, ' Be cautious, Tom.' Well, divil a word Tom 
could say at all, with the fright, so up he goes to the cat, and 
says she — 


"'Tom,' says she, 'I have a great respect for you, and 
there's something I must tell you, becasc you're losing character 
with your neighbours,' says she, 'by your goin's on,' says she, 
♦ and it's out o' the respect that I have for you, that I must tell 
you,' says she. 

" ' Thank you, ma'am,' says Tom . 

" ' You're goin' off to the town,' says she, ' to buy shoes for 
the childre,' says she, ' and never thought o' gettin' me a pair. '' 

" ' You !' says Tom. 

" ' Yis, me, Tom Connor,' says she ; * and the neighbours 
wondhers that a respectable man like you allows your cat to go 
about the counthry barefutted,' says she. 

" * Is it a cat to ware shoes ?' says Tom. 

" ' Why not ?' says she ; ' doesn't horses ware shoes ? — and I 
have a prettier foot than a horse, I hope,' says she, with a toss 
of her head. 

'* ' Faix, she spakes like a woman ; so proud of her feet,' 
says Tom to himself, astonished, as you may suppose, but pre- 
tending never to think it remarkable all the time ; and so he 
went on discoursin'; and says he, ' It's thrue for you, ma'am,' says 
he, ' that horses wares shoes — but that stands to rayson, ma'am, 
you see — seeing the hardship their feet has to go through on 
the hard roads.' 

" ' And how do you know what hardship my feet has to go 
through ?' says the cat, mighty sharp. 

" ' But, ma'am,' says Tom, ' I don't well see how you could 
fasten a shoe on you,' says he. 

" ' Lave that to me,' says the cat. 

" ' Did any one ever stick walnut shells on you, pussy ?' 
says Tom, with a grin. 

" ' Don't be disrespectful, Tom Connor,' says the cat, with a 

" ' I ax your pard'n, ma'am,' says he, ' but as for the horses 
you wor spakin' about wearin' shoes, you know their shoes is 
fastened on with nails, and how would your shoes be fastened on ?' 

"' Ah, you stupid thief !' says she, ' haven't I illigant nails o' 
my own ?' and with that she gave him a dab of her claw, that 
made him roar. 

" ' Ow ! murdher !' says he. 

"'Now, no more of your palaver, Misther Connor,' says the 
cat ; 'just be off and get me the shoes.' 

"'Tare an ouns!' says Tom, 'what'll become o' me if I'm 
to get shoes for my cats r says he, ' for you increase your family 
four times a year, and you have six or seven every time,' says 
he ; ' and then you must all have two pair apiece — wirral wirra I 
— I'll be ruined in shoe-leather,' says Tom. jg 


" ' No more o' your stuff,' says the cat ; don't be standin' 
here undlier the hedge talkin,' or we'll lose our karacthers — for 
I've remarked your wife is jealous, Tom.' 

" ' 'Pon my sowl, that's thrue,' says Tom, with a smirk. 

" ' More fool she,' says the cat, ' for, 'pon my conscience, 
Tom, you're as ugly as if you wor bespoke.' 

" Off ran the cat with these words, leaving Tom in amaze- 
ment. He said nothing to the family, for fear of fright'ning 
them, and off he went to the town as he pretended — for he saw 
the cat watching him through a hole in the hedge ; but when he 
came to a turn at the end of the road, the dickings a mind he 
minded the market, good or bad, but went off to Squire 
Botherum's, the magisthrit, to sware examinations agen the cat." 

"Pooh! pooh! — nonsense!!" broke in the little man, who 
had listened thus far to Murtough with an expression of mingled 
wonder and contempt, while the rest of the party willingly gave 
up the reins to nonsense, and enjoyed Murtough's Legend, and 
their companion's more absurd common sense. 

"Don't iAerrupt him, Goggins," said Mister "Wiggins. 

" How can you listen to such nonsense ?" returned Goggins. 
* Swear examinations against a cat, indeed ! pooh ! pooh !" 

" My dear sir," said Murtough, " remember this is a fair 
story, and that the country all around here is full of enchant- 
ment. As I was telling you, Tom went off to swear examina- 

" Ay, ay !" shouted all but Goggins ; " go on with the story." 

And when Tom was asked to relate the events of the 
morning, which brought him before Squire Botherum, his brain 
was so bewildered between his corn, and his cat, and his child's 
loe, that he made a very confused account of it. 

" ' Begin your story from the beginning,' said the magistrate 
to Tom. 

" ' Well, your honour,' says Tom, ' I was goin' to market this 
mornin', to sell the child's corn— I beg your pard'n— my own 
toes, I mane, sir.' 

" ' Sell your toes !' said the Squire. 
' No, sir, takin' the cat to market, I mane — ' 

" ' Take a cat to market !' said the Squire. ' You're drunk, 

" ' No, your honour, only confused a little ; for when the toea 
began to spake to me — the cat, I mane — I was bothered clane— ' 

"'The cat speak to you !' said the Squire. 'Phew! worse 
than before — you're drunk, Tom.' 

" ' No, your honour ; it's on the strength of the cat I come to 
spake to you — ' 

M ' I think it's on the strength of a pint of whisky. Torn-*' 

BANDY i.NDY. 233 

•««By tbevartueo' my oatli, your honour, it's nothin'but the 
cat.' And so Tom then told him all about the affair, and the 
Squire was regularly astonished. Just then the bishop of the 
diocese and the priest of the parish happened to call in. find 
hoard the slow; and the bishop and the priest hud a tough 
argument for two hours on the subject; the former swearing 
she must be a witch; but the priest denying that, and niain- 
t. lining she was only enchanted; and that part of the argument 
was afterwards referred to the primate, .and subsequently to the 
conclave at Koine; but the Pope declined interfering about 
cats, saying he had quite enough to do minding his own bulls. 

'••In the meantime, what arc we to do with the cat?' says 

•• • 15 urn her,' says the bishop, 'sheV a witch.' 

•' ' Ou'y enchanted,' said the priest — ' and the ecclesiastical 
court maintains that — ' 

"•Bother the ecclesiastical court:' said the magistrate ; 'I 
can only proceed on the statutes;' and with that he pulled down 
all the law-books, in his library, and hunted the laws from 
(Jueen Elizabeth down, and he found that they made laws 
against everything in Ireland, except a cat. The devil a thing 
escaped them but a eat, which did not come within the meauing 
of any act of parliament : — the cats only had escaped. 

'•'There's the alien act, to be sure,' said the magistrate, 
•and perhaps she's a French spy, in disguise.' 

'"Shespakes like a French spy, sure enough,' says Tom; 
'and she was misMii', I remember, all last Spy-Wednesday.' 

"'That's suspicious,' says the squire — 'but conviction might 
be difficult ; and I have a fresh idea,' says Botherum. 

'•■Faith, it won't keep fresh long, this hot weather,' say.i 
Tom : ' so your honour had betther make use of it at wanst.' 

•• ' Bight, ' says Botherum, — we'll make her subject to tlu 
game laws ; we'll hunt her,' says he. 

" ' w ! — elegant ! ' says Tom ; — " we'll have a brave run out 
"f her.' 

" ' Meet me at the cross roads,' says the squire', in the morn- 
ing, and I'll have the hounds ready. 

'• Well, off Tom went home ; and he was racking his brain 
what excu-.e he could make V> the cat for not bringing the 
Mmcs ; omdat last he hit one oil, just as he saw her cantering up to 
him, half a mile before he got home. 

'"Where's the shoes, Tom?' says she 

"'I have not got them to-day, ma'am,' says lie. 

*" Is that the way you keep your promise, Tom ?' says she ; 
•—'I'll tell you what it is, Tom— I'll tare the eyes out o' the 
childrc' i? vou don't get »>" "h 


" ' Whisht ! whisht ! ' says Tom, frightened out of his life for his 
children's eyes. ' Don't be in a passion, pussy. The shoemaker 
said he had not a shoe in his shop, nor a last that would make 
one to fit you ; and he says, I must bring you into the town for 
him to take your measure.' 

"'And when am I to go?' says the cat, looking savage. 

" ' To-morrow,' says Tom. 

" ' It's well you said that, Tom,' said the cat, ' or the devil 
an eye I'd leave in your family this night' — and off she hopped. 

" Tom thrimbled at the wicked look she gave. 

"'Remember!' says she, over the hedge, with a bitter 

" ' Never fear,' says Tom. 

" Well, sure enough, the next mornin' there was the cat at 
cock-crow, licking herself as nate as a new pin, to go into the 
town, and out came Tom with a bag undher his arm, and the 
cat afther him — 

" ' Now git into this, and I'll carry you into the town,' saya 
Tom, opening the bag. 

" ' Sure I can walk with you,' says the cat. 

" ' Oh, that wouldn't do,' says Tom ; ' the people in the town 
is curious and slandherous people, and sure it would rise ugly 
remarks if I was seen with a cat afther me : — a dog is a man's 
companion by nature, but cats does not stand to rayson.' 

" Well, the cat, seeing there was no use in argument, got 
into the bag, and off Tom set to the cross roads with the bag 
over his shoulder, and he came up, quite innocent-like, to the 
corner, where the squire and his huntsman, and the hounds, and 
a pack o' people were waitin'. Out came the squire on a sudden, 
just as if it was all by accident. 

" ' God save you, Tom,' says he. 

" ' God save you kindly, sir,' says Tom. 

'"What's that bag you have at your back?' says the 

" ' Oh, nothin' at all, sir,' says Tom — makin' a face all the 
time, as much as to say, I have her safe. 

" ' Oh, there's something in that bag, I think,' says the 
squire ; ' and you must let me see it.' 

" ' If you bethray me, Tom Connor,' says the cat in a low 
voice, ' by this and that I'll never spake to you again ! ' 

" ' 'Pon my honour, sir,' said Tom, with a wink and a twitch 
ef his thumb towards the bag, 'I haven't anything in it.' 

" ' I have been missing my praties of late,' says the squire ; 
' and I'd justs like to examine that bag,' says he. 

'"Is it doubting my charackther you'd be, sir?' says Tom, 
pretending to be in a passion. 


* ' Tom, your sowl ! ' says the voice in the sack, ' If yon let 
the cat out of the bag, I'll murther you.' 

" '• Au honest man would make no objection to be sarchcd', 
said the squire ; ' and I insist on it,' says lie, laying; hold o' the 
hair, ami Tom purtending to fight all the time ; but, my jewel ! 
before two minutes, they shook the cat out o' the bag - , sure 
enough, and off she went with her tail as big - as a sweeping: 
brush, and the squire, with a thundering view halloo after her, 
clapt the dogs at her heels, and away they went for the bare life. 
Never was there seen such running as that day — the cat made 
for a shaking bog, the loneliest place in the whole country, and 
there the riders were all thrown out, barrin' the huntsman, who 
had a web-footed horse on purpose for soft places ; and th« 
priest, whose horse could go anywhere by reason of the priest's 
blessing ; and, sure enough, the huntsman and his riverence 
stuck to the hunt like wax ; and just as the cat got on the border 
of the bog, they saw her give a twist as the foremost dog closed 
with her, for he gave her a nip in the flank. Still she went on, 
however, and headed them well, towards an old mud cabin in the 
middle of the bog, and there they saw her jump in at the win- 
dow, and up came the dogs the next minit, and gathered round 
the house with the most horrid howling ever was heard. The 
huntsman alighted, and went into the house to turn the cat out 
again, when what should he see but an old hag lying in bed in 
the corner? 

" ' Did you see a cat come in here ?' says he. 

" ' Oh, no — o — o — o ! ' squealed the old hag, in a trembling 
Toice ; ' there's no cat here,' says she. 

" ' Yelp, yelp, yelp ! ' went the dogs outside. 

" ' Oh, keep the dogs out o' this,' says the old hag — 
' oh — o — o — o ! ' and the huntsman saw her eyes glare under the 
blanket, just like a cat's. 

'•'Ilillo!' says the huntsman, pulling down the blanket — 
and what should he see but the old hag's flank, all in a gore 01 

'■' ' Ow, ow ! you old divil — is it you t you ould cat ! ' says he, 
opening the door. 

" In rushed the dogs — up jumped the old hag, and changing 
into a cat before their eyes, out she darted through the window 
ngain, and made another run for it; but she couldn't escape, 
mid the dogs gobbled her while you could say 'Jack Robinson. 
But the mo^t remarkable part of this extraordinary story, gen- 
liemen, is, that the pack was ruined from that day out; for after 
having eaten the enchanted cat, the devil a thing they would 
ever hunt afterwards, but mice." 



Murphy's story was received with acclamation by all biiS 
the little man. 

" That is all a pack of nonsense," said he. 

" Well, you're welcome to it, sir," said Murphy, " and if I 
had greater nonsense you should have it ; but seriously, sir, I 
again must beg you to remember that the country all around 
here abounds in enchantment ; scarcely a night passes without 
some fairy frolic ; but, however you may doubt the wonderful 
fact of tbe cat speaking, I wonder you are not impressed with 
the points of moral in which the story abounds — ; ' 

" Fiddlestick !" said the miniature snarler. 

" First the little touch about the corn monopoly * — then ma- 
ternal vanity chastised by the loss of the child's toe — then Tom's 
familiarity with his cat, showing the danger arising from a 
man making too free with his female domestics — the historical 
point about the penal laws — the fatal results of letting the cat 
out o' the bag, with the curious final fact in natural history." 

" It's all nonsense," said the little man, " and I am ashamed of 
myself for being suck a fool as to sit a-listening to such stuff 
instead of going to bed, after the fatigue of my journey and the 
necessity of rising early to-morrow, to be in good time at the 

" Oh ! then you're going to the election, sir ?" said Murphy. 

"Yes, sir — there's some sense in that — and you, gentlemen, 
remember we must be all up early — and I recommend you to 
follow xy example." 

Ti.d little man rang the bell — the bootjack and slippers 
were called for, and, after some delay, a very sleepy-looking 
gossoon entered with a bootjack under his u*m, but no slippers, 

" Didn't I say slippers 1" said the little man. 

"Yoi did, sir." 

" Wkrre are they, sir." 

" Tli- masther says there isn't ^ny if you plaze, sir." 

"No slippers! — and you call this an inn! Oh! — well, 
' what c"3u't be cured must be endured' — hold me the bootjack, 

The gossoon obeyed — the little man inserted his heel in the 

* Handy Andy was written when the "vexed question" of th« 
"Corn Laws' was the ail-absorbing subject of discussion. 


clef I, but, on attempting 1 to pull his foot from the boot, he nearly 
went heels over head backward. Murphy caught him and put 
him on his legs again. " Heads up, soldiers,'' exclaimed Mur- 
tough ; " I thought you were drinking too much." 

" Sir, I'm not intoxicated 1 " said the mannikin, snappishly. 
" It is the fault of that vile bootjack — what sort of a thing is 
that you have brought 1" added he in a rage to the gossoon. 

" It's the bootjack, sir ; only one o' the horns is gone, you 
foe," and he held up to view a rough piece of board with an 
angular slit in it, but one of " the horns," as he called it, had 
been broken off at the top, leaving the article useless. 

" How dare you bring such a thing as that ? " said the little 
man, in a great rage. 

" Why, sir, you ax'd for a bootjack, sure, and I brought you 
the best I had — and it's not my fault it's bruk, so it is, for it 
wiisn't me bruk it, but Biddy batin' the cock." 

'•Beating the cock!'' repeated the little man, in surprise. 
" Bless me! beat a cock with a boctjack ! — what savages !" 

" Oh, it's not the hen cock I mane, sir," said the gossoon, 
i: but the beer cock — she was batin' the cock into the barrel, sir, 
wid the bootjack, sir." 

" That was decidedly wrong," said Murphy ; " a bootjack is 
better suited to a heel-tap than a full measure." 

"She was tapping the beer, you mean?" said the little 

" Faix, she wasn't tapping it at all, sir, but hittin' it very 
hard, she was, and that's the way she bruk it." 

" Barbarians ! " exclaimed the little man ; " using a bootjack 
instead of a hammer ! " 

" Sure the hammer was gone to the priest, sir ; bekase he 
ranted it for the crucifixion.'' 

" The crucifixion ! " exclaimed the little man, horrified ; "is 
it ]o?.-:ble they crucify people?" 

" Oh no, 6ir I " said the gossoon, grinning, " it's the picthure 
I main, sir— an illigant picthure that is hung up in the chapel, 
ir.d he wauted a hammer to dhrive the nails — 

' : Oh, a picture of the crucifixion," said the little man. 

" Yet, sure, sir — the alther piece, that was althered for to fit 
to the place, for it was too big when it came down from 
Dublin, so they cut off the sides where the sojers was, bekase it 
Ftuj.t out the windows, and wouldn't lave a bit o' light for his 
ri'.erence to read mass ; and sure the sojers were no loss out o' 
the alther piece, and was hung up afther in the vesthery, and 
serve them right, the blackguards. But it was sore agen our 
will to cut off the ladies at the bottom, that was cryin' and 
roarin', but great good luck* the head o' the Blessed Virgin was 


presarved in tne corner, and sure its beautiful to see the tears 
runnin' down her face, just over the hole in the wall for the 
holy wather — which is remarkable." 

The gossoon was much offended by the laughter that 
followed his account of the altar-piece, which he had no 
intention of making irreverential, and suddenly became silent, 
with a muttered " More shame for yiz ;" and as his bootjack 
was impracticable, he was sent oif with orders for the chamber- 
maid to supply bed candles immediately. 

The party soon separated for their various dormitories, the 
little man leaving sundry charges to call them early in the 
morning, and to be sure to have hot water ready for shaving, 
and, without fail, to have their boots polished in time and left 
at their room doors; — to all which injunctions he severally 
received the answer of — " Certainly, sir ;" and as the bed-room 
doors were slapped-to, one by one, the last sound of the retiring 
party was the snappish voice of the indefatigable little man, 
shouting, ere he shut his door, — " Early — early — don't forget, 
Mistress Kelly — early!" 

A shake-down for Murphy in the parlour was hastily 
prepared ; and after Mrs. Kelly was assured by Murtough that 
he was quite comfortable, a d perfectly content with his 
accommodation, for which she made scores of apologies, with 
lamentations it was not better, &c, &c, the whole household 
retired to rest, and in about a q arter of an hour the inn was in 
perfect silence. 

Then Murtough cautiously opened his door, and after 
listening for some minutes, and being satisfied he was the only 
watcher under the roof, he gently opened one of the parlour 
windows and gave the preconcerted sig-nal which he and Dick 
bad agreed upon. Dick was under the window immediately, 
and after exchanging a few words with Murtough, the latter 
withdrew, and taking off his boots, and screening with his hand 
the light of a candle he carried, he cautiously ascended 
the stairs, and proceeded stealthily along the corridor of the 
dormitory, where, from the chambers on each side, a concert of 
snoring began to be execut d, and at all the doors stood the 
boots and shoes of the inmates awaiting the aid of Day and 
Martin in the morning. But, oh! — innocent calf-skins — 
destined to a far different fa e — not Day and Martin, but Dick 
the Devil and Company are in wait for you. Murphy collected 
as many as he could carry u der his arms and descended with 
them to the parlour window, where they were transferred to 
Dick, who carried them direc ly to the horse-pond which lay 
'jehind the inn, and there committed them to the deep. After 
a few journeys up and down stairs, Murtough had left the 


electors without a morsel of sole or upper leather, and was 
satisfied that a considerable delay, if not a prevention of 
their appearance at the poll on the morrow, would be the 

"There, Dick," said Murphy, "is the last of them," as he 
handed the little man's shoes out of the window, — <; and now, 
to save appearances, you must take mine too — for I must be 
without boots as well as the rest in the morning. What fun I 
shall have when the uproar begins — don't you envy me, Dick 1 
There, be off now: but hark'e, notwithstanding you take away 
my boots you need not throw them into the horse-pond." 

" Faith, an' I will," said Dick, dragging' them out of his 
hand* ; " 'twould not be honourable, if I didn't — I'd give two 
pair of boots for the fun you'll have. 

" Nonsense, Dick — Dick, I say — my boots !" 
" Honour !" cried Dick, as he vanished round the corner. 
" That devil will keep his word," muttered Murphy, as he 
closed the window — " I may bid good-bye to that pair of boots 
— bad luck to him!" And yet the merry attorney could 
not help laughing at Dick making him a sufferer by his own 

Dick did keep his word ; and after, with particular delight, 
sinking Murphy's boots with the rest, he, as it was preconcerted, 
returned to the cottage of Barny and with his assistance drew 
the upset gig from the ditch, and with a second set of harness, 
piovided for the occasion, yoked the servant's horse to the 
vehicle and drove home. 

Murphy, meanwhile, was bent on more mischief at the inn ; 
and lest the loss of the boots and shoes might not be productive 
of sufficient impediment to the movements of the enemy, he 
determined on venturing a step further. The heavy sleeping 
of the weary and tipsy travellers enabled him to enter their 
chambers unobserved, and over the garments they had taken oft 
he poured the contents of the water-jug and water-bottle be 
found in each room, and then laying the empty bottle and a 
tumbler on a chair beside each sleeper's bed, he made it appear 
as if the drunken men had been dry in the night, and in their 
endeavours to cool their thirst, had upset the water over their 
own clothes. The clothes of the little man, in particular, 
Murphy took especial delight in sousing more profusely than 
his neighbour's, and not content with taking his shoes, burnt 
his stockings, and left the ashes in the dish of the candlestick, 
with just as much unconsumed as would show what they had 
been. He then retired to the parlour, and with many an 
internal chuckle at the thought of the morning's hubbub, threw 
off his clothes and flinging himself on the shake-down Mrs 


Kelly had provided for him, was soon wrapt in the profoundest 
slumber, from which he never awoke until the morning uproar 
of the inn aroused him. He jumped from his lair and rushed 
to the scene of action, to soar in the storm of his own raising ; 
and to make it more apparent that he had been as great a 
sufferer as .the rest, he only threw a quilt over his shoulders and 
did not draw on his stockings. Tn this plight he scaled the 
stairs and joined the storming yarty, where the little man 
was leading the forlorn hope, with his candlestick in one hand 
and the remnant of his burnt stocking between the finger and 
thumb of the other. 

"Look at that, sir!" he ~r c ^ , as he held it up to the 

The landlord could only stiflfft 

"Bless met" cried Murpt " liow drunk you must have 
been to mistake your stocking .j- .ji extinguisher !" 

"Drunk sir — I wasn't oV* 

"It looks very like it," <»■ furphy, who did not wait for 
an answer, but bustled off * another party who was wringing 
out his inexpressibles at th door of his bedroom, and swearing 
at the gossoon, that he must have his hoots. 

" I never seen them, sir," said the boy. 

" I left t-hem at my door," said the man. 

" So did I leave mine," said Murphy, " and here I am bare- 
footed — it is most extraordinary." 

" Has the house been robbed V said the innocent elector. 

" Not a one o' me knows, sir !" said the boy ; " but how 
could it, be robbed and the doors all fast this mornin' ?" 

"The landlady now appeared, and fired at the word 

" Robbed, sir!"' exclaimed Mrs. Kelly; "no, sir — no one was 
ever robbpd in my hcuse— my house is respectable and respon- 
sible, sir — a varfcuous house — none o' your rantipole places, sir, 
I'd have you. to kno??$ but decent and well be haved, and the 
house was as quiut as s farab all night." 

" Certainly, Mrs. Kelly," said Murphy — " not a more res- 
pectable house in Ireland — I'll vouch for that." 

" You're a gentleman, Misther Murphy," said Mrs. Kelly, 
who turned down the passage, uttering indignant ejaculationi 
'in a sort of snorting manner, while her words of anger wen 
returned by Murphy with expressions of soothing and con 
dolence, as he followed her down stairs. 

The storm still continued above, and while there they 
shouted and swore and complained, Murphy gave his notion 
,of the catastrophe to the landlady below, inferring that the 
men were drunk and poured the water over their own clothes. 


To repeat this idea to themselves he re-ascended, hut the men 
were incredulous. The little man he found buttoning- on a 
pair of bkick gaiters, the only serviceable decency he had at 
his command, which only rendered his denuded state more 
ludicrous. To him Murphy asserted his belief that the whole 
affair was enchnntment, ana ventured to hope the small indi- 
vidual would have more faith in fairy machinations for the 
future ; to which the little abortion only returned his usual 
" Pho! pho ! nonsense ! " 

Through all this scene of uproar, as Murphy passed to and 
fro, whenever he encountered the landlord that worthy 
individual threw him a knowing look ; and the exclamation of, 
"Oh, Misther Murphy — by dad!" given in a low chuckling 
tone, insinuated that the landlord not only smoked but enjoyed 
the joke. 

•' 1 ou must lend me a pair of boots, Kelly J" said Murtough. 

" To be sure, sir — ha ! ha ! ha ! — but you are the quare man, 
Misther Murphy — " 

" Send down the road and get my gig out of the ditch." 

" To be sure, sir. Poor devils ! purty hands they got into," 
and off went the landlord, with a chuckle. 

The messengers sent for the gig returned, declaring there 
was no gig to be seen anywhere. 

Murphy affected great surprise at the intelligence — again 
went among the bamboozled electors, who were all obliged to go 
to bed for want of clothes ; and his bitter lamentations over 
the loss of his gig almost reconciled them to their minor 

To the fears they expressed that they should not be able to 
"each the town in time for polling that day, Murphy told them 
to set their minds at rest, for they would be in time on the next. 

He then borrowed a saddle as well as the pair of boots from 
the landlord, and the little black mare bore Murphy trium- 
phantly back to the town, after he had securely impounded 
Scatterbrain'a voters, who were anxiously and hourly expected 
by their friends. Still they came not. At last, Handy Andy, 
who happened to be in town with Scatterbrain, was despatched 
to hurry them, and his orders were not to come back without 

Handy, on his arrival at the inn, found the electors in bed, 
and all the fires in the house employed in drying their clothes. 
The little man, wrapped in a blanket, was superintending the 
cooking of his own before the kitchen grate ; there hung his 
garments on some cross sticks suspended by a string, after the 
fashion of a roasting-jack, which the small gentleman turned 
before a blazing turf lire ; and beside this contrivance of his 


swung a goodly joint of meat, which a bouncing kitchen wench 
came over to baste now and then. 

Andy was answering some questions of the inquisitive little 
man, when the kitchen maid, handing the basting-ladle to 
Andy, begged him to do a good turn and just to baste the beef 
for her, for that her heart was broke with all she had to do, 
cooking dinner for so many. 

Andy, always ready to oblige, consented, and plied the ladle 
actively between the troublesome queries of the little man; but, 
at last, getting confused with some very crabbed questions put 
to him, Andy became completely bothered, and lifting a brim- 
ming ladle of dripping, poured it over the little man's coat 
instead of the beef. 

A roar from the proprietor of the clothes followed, and he 
implanted a kick at such advantage upon Andy, that he upset 
him into the dripping-pan; and Andy, in his fall, endeavouring 
to support himself, caught at the suspended articles above him, 
and the clothes and the beef, and Andy, all swam in gravy. 


While disaster and hubbub were rife below, the electors 
up stairs were holding a council whether it would not be better 
to send back the " Honourable's" messenger to the town and 
request a supply of shoes, which they had no other means of 
getting. The debate was of an odd sort ; they were all in 
their several beds at the time, and roared at each other through 
their doors, which were purposely left open that they might 
enjoy each other's conversation; number seven replied to 
number three, and claimed respect to his arguments on the 
score of seniority ; the blue room was completely controverted 
by the yellow ; and the double-bedded room would, of course 
have had superior weight in the argument, only that every- 
thing it said was lost by the two honourable members speaking 
together. The French king used to hold a council called a 
" bed of justice," in which neither justice nor a bed had any- 
thing to do, so that this Irish conference better deserved the 
title than any council the Bourbon ever assembled. The 
debate having concluded, and the question being put and car- 

HAND! ANDT. 2i5 

ried, the usher of the black counterpane was desired to get 
out of bed, and, wrapped in the robe of office whence he de- 
rived his title, to go down stairs and call the " Honourable' s" 
messenger to the " bar of the house," and there order him a 
pint of porter, for refreshment after his ride; and forthwith 
to send him back again to the town for a supply of shoes. 

The house was unanimous in voting the supplies. The 
usher reached the kitchen and found Andy in his shirt sleeves, 
scraping the dripping from his livery with an old knife, whose 
hackled edge considerably assisted Andy's own ingenuity in 
the tearing of his coat in many places, while the little man 
made no effort towards the repair of his garment, but held it 
up before him, and regarded it with a piteous look. 

To the usher of the black counterpane's question, whether 
Andy was the " Honourable's messenger," Andy replied in the 
affirmative ; but to the desire expressed, that he would ride 
back to the town, Andy returned a decided negative. 

" My ordhers is not to go back without you," said Andy. 

" But we have no shoes," said the usher ; " and cannot go 
until we get some." 

'• My ordher is not to go back without you." 

" But if we can't go ?" 

" Well, then, I can't go back, that's all," said Andy. 

The usher, the landlord, and the landlady all hammered 
away at Andy for a long time, in vain trying to convince him 
he ought to return, as he was desired ; still Andy stuck to the 
letter of his orders, and said he often got into trouble for not 
doing exactly what he was bid, and that he was bid " not to go 
back without them, and he would not — so he wouldn't — divil 

At last, however, Andy was made to understand the pro- 
priety of riding back to the town ; and was desired to go as 
fast as his horse could carry him, to gallop every foot of thr 
way, but Andy did no such thing : he had received a good 
thrashing once for being caught gallopping his master's horse 
on the road, and he had no intention of running the risk a 
second time, because " the stranger''' told him to do so. " What 
does he know about it," said Andy to himself; "faith, it's fair 
and aisy I'll go, and not disthress the horse to plaze any one." 
So he went back his ten miles at a reasonable pace only ; and 
when he appeared without the electors, a storm burst on poor 

'■ There ! I knew how it would be," said he, " and not my 
fault at all." 

" Were n't you told not to return without them ?" 

" But wait till I tell you how it was, sure ;" and then Andj 


began an account of the condition in which the voters lay at 
the inn ; hut between the impatience of those who heard, and 
the confused manner of Andy's recital, it was some time be- 
V;re matters were explained ; then Andy was desired to ride 
back to the inn again, to tell the electors shoes should be for- 
warded after him in a post-chaise, and requesting their utmost 
exertions in hastening over to the town, for that the election 
was going against them. Andy returned to the inn ; and this 
time, under orders from head quarters, gallopped in good ear- 
nest, and brought in his horse smoking hot, and indicating 
lameness. The day was wearing apace, and it was so late 
when the electors were enabled to start that the polling- 
booths were closed before they could leave the town ; and in 
many of these booths the requisite number of electors had not 
been polled that day to keep them open ; so that the next day 
nearly all those out-iying electors, about whom there had been 
so much trouble and expense, would be of no avail; Thus, 
Murphy's trick was quite successful, and the poor pickled 
electors were driven back to their inn in dudgeon. 

Andy, when he went to the stable to saddle his steed, for a 
return to Neck-or-Nothing Hall, found him dead lame, so that 
to ride him better than twelve miles home was impossible. 
Andy was obliged to leave him where he was, and trudge it to 
the hall ; for all the horses in Kelly's stables were knocked up 
with their day's work. 

As it shorter by four miles across the country than by 
the road, Andy pursued the former course ; and as he knew 
the country well, the shades of evening, which were now clos- 
ing round, did not deter him in the least. Andy was not very 
fresh for the journey to be sure, for he had ridden upwards of 
thirty miles that day, so the merry whistle, which is so con- 
stantly heard from the lively Irish pedestrian, did not while 
away the tedium of his walk. It was night when Andy was 
breasting up a low ridge of hills, which lay between him and 
the end of his journey ; and when in silence and darkness he 
topped the' ascent, he threw himself on some heather to rest 
and take breath. His attention was suddenly caught by a 
small blue flame, which flickered now and then on the face of 
the hill, not very far from him ; and Andy's fears of fairies and 
goblins came crowding upon him thick and fast. He wished 
to rise, but could not ; his eye continued to be strained with 
the fascination of fear in the direction he saw the fire, and 
sought to pierce the gloom through which, at intervals, the 
Email point of flame flashed brightly and sunk again, making 
the darkness seem deeper. Andy lay in perfect stillness, and 
ia the silence, which was unbroken even bv His own breath inff 


t he heard voices underground. He trembled fro 
head to foot, for he was certain they were the voices of th 
fairies, whom he firmly believed to inhabit the hills. 

"Oh! mnrdher, what'll I do ?" thought Andy to himself, 
" sure I heerd often, if once you were within the sound of 
their voices, you could never get out o' their power. Oh ! if 
I could only say a .pather and are, but I forget my prayers, 
with the fright. Hail, Mary ! The king o' the fairies lives in 
these hills, I know — and his house is undher me this minit 
and I on the roof of it — I'll never get down again — I'll never 
get down again — they'll make me slater to the fairies ; and 
sure enough, I remember me, the hill is all covered with Hal 
stones they call fairy slates. Oh! I am ruined — God be 
praised !' ; Here he blessed himself, and laid his head close to 
the earth. " Guardian angels — I hear their voices singin' a 
dhrinking song — Oh ! if I had a dhrop o' water myself, for my 
mouth is as dhry as a lime- burner's wig — and I on the top o 
their house — see — there's the little blaze again — I wondher ia 
their chimbley a-fire — Oh ! murther, I'll die o' thirst — Oh ! if 
I had only one dhrop o' wather — I wish it would rain or hail — 
Hail, Mary", full o' grace — whisht ! — what's that ?" Andy 
couched lower than before, as he saw a figure rise from the 
earth, and attain a height which Andy computed to be some- 
thing about twenty feet ; his heart shrank to the size of a nut- 
shell, as he beheld the monster expand to his full dimensions ; 
and at the same moment, a second, equally large, emerged from 
the ground. 

Now, as fairies are notoriously little people, Andy changed 
his opinion of the parties into whose power he had fallen, and 
saw clearly they were giants, not fairies, of whom he was about 
to become the victim. He would have ejaculated a prayer for 
mercy, had not terror rendered him speechless, as the remem- 
brance of all the giants he had ever heard of, from the days of 
Jack and the Bean-Stalk down, came into his head; but 
though his sense of speaking was gone, that of hearing was 
painfully acute, and he heard one of the giants say — 

" That pot is not big enough." 

" Oh ! it howlds as much as we want," replied the other. 

" Lord," thought Andy; " they've got their pot ready for 

" What keeps him ?" said the first giant. 

" Oh ! he's not far off," said the second. 

A clammy shivering came over Andy. 

"I'm hungry," said the first, and he hiccupped as h. 

"It's only a false appetite you have," said the sccojm* 
*' vou're drunk." 



This was a new light to Andy, for he thought giants were 
too strong to get drunk. 

" I could ate a young child, without parsley and butthcr," 
said the drunken giant. 

Andy gave a faint spasmodic kick. 

" And it's as hot as down there," said the giant. 

Andy trembled at the horrid word he heard. 

" No wonder," said the second giant; "for I can see th» 
flame popping out of the top of the chimbley ; that's bad : I 
hope no one will see it, or it might give them warning. Bad 
luck to that young divil for making the fire so sthrong." 

What a dreadful hearing this was for Andy : young devils 
to make their fires ; there was no doubt what place they were 
dwelling in. " Thunder and turf!" said the drunken giant ; "I 
wish I had a slice of — " 

Andy did not hear what he wished a slice of, for the night 
wind swept across the heath at the moment, and carried away 
the monster's disgusting words on its pure breath. 

" Well, I'd rather have — " said the other giant; and again 
Andy lost what his atrocious desires were — " than all the other 
slices in the world. What a lovely round shoulder she has, 
and the nice round ankle of her — " 

The word " ankle" showed at once it was a woman of whom 
he spoke, and Andy shuddered. " The monsters ! to eat a 

" What a fool you are to be in love," said the drunken 
giant with several hiccups, showing the increase of his inebria- 

"Is that what the brutes call love," thought Andy, "to ate 
a woman ?" 

" I wish she was bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh," 
said the second giant. 

Of this speech Andy heard only " bone'' and " flesh," and 
had great difficulty in maintaining the serenity of his dia- 

The conversation of the giants was now more frequently 
interrupted by the wind which was rising, and only broken 
sentences reached Andy, whose senses became clearer the 
longer he remained in a state of safety ; at last he heard the 
name of Squire Egan distinctly pass between the giants. 

" So they know Squire Egan," thought Andy. 

The first giant gave a drunken laugh at the mention of 
Squire Egan's name, and exclaimed — 

" Don't be afraid of him (hiccup), I have him undher my 
thumb (hiccup). I can crush him when I plase." 

" Oh ! my poor owld masther !" niep^ftllv tuaoulated 


Another break in their conversation occurred, and 
next name Andy overheard was " O'Grady." 

"The big bully!" said the second giant. 

" They know the whole country," thought Andy. 

" But tell me, what was that you said to him at the elec- 
tion ?" said the drunken one. 

The word " election recalled Andy to the business of this 
earth back again ; and it struck upon his hitherto bewildered 
sensorium that giants could have nothing to do with elections, 
and he knew he never saw them there ; and, as the thought 
struck him, it seemed as if the giants diminished in sue, and 
did not appear quite so big. 

" Sure you know," said the second. 

" Well, I'd like to hear it again," said the drunken one— 

" The big bully says to me, ' Have you a lease ?' says he ; 
* no,' says I ; ' but I have an article !' ' What article ?' says he ; 
4 It's a fine brass blunderbuss,' says I, ' and I'd like to see the 
man would dispute the title ''" 

The drunken listenei jhuckled, and the words broke the 
spell of supernatural terror which had hung over Andy ; be 
knew, by the words of the speaker, it was the bully joker of 
the election was present, who browbeat O'Grady and out- 
quibbled the agent about the oath of allegiance ; and the voice 
of the other he soon recognised for that of Larry Hogan. — So 
now his giants were diminished into mortal men — the pot, 
which had been mentioned to the terror of his soul, was for the 
making of whisky instead of human broth — and the " hell " ha 
thought his giants inhabited was but a private still. Andy felt 
as if a mountain had been lifted from his heart when he found 
it was but mortals he had to deal with ; for Andy was not 
deficient in courage when it was but thews and sinews like his 
own he had to encounter. He still lay concealed, however, for 
smugglers might not wish their private haunt to be discovered, 
and it was possible Andy would be voted one too many in 
the company should he announce himself ! and with such odds 
as two to one against him he thought he had better be quiet. 
Besides, his curiosity became excited when he found them 
speaking of his old master, Egan, and his present one, O'Grady ; 
and as a woman had been alluded to, and odd words caught up 
here and there, he became anxious to hear more of their con- 

" So you're in love," said Larry, with a hiccup, to our friend 
oft the bhinderbuss ; "ha! ha! ha! you big fool." 

" Weil, you old thief, don't you like a purty girl yourself P" 
M'J! did» when I was young and foolish. ' 


" Faith, then, you're young and foolish at that rate yet, for 
you're a rogue with the girls, Larry," said the other, giving 
him a slap on the back. 

" Not I ! not I !" said Larry, in a manner expressive of his 
not being displeased with the charge of gallantry; "be! hel 
he! — how do you know, eh ?" (Hiccup.) 

" Sure I know myself; but as I wos telling you, if I could 
only lay howld of — " here his voice became inaudible to Andy, 
and the rest of the sentence was lost. 

Andy's curiosity was great. " Who could the girl be P 

" And you'd carry her off," said Larry. 

" I would," said the other ; "I'm only af'eard o' Squire Egan." 

At this announcement of the intention of "carrying her 
off," coupled with the fear of " Squire Egan," Andy's anxiety 
to hear the name of the person became so intense that fca 
crawled cautiously a little nearer to the speakers. 

" I tell you again," said Larry ! " I can settle him aigj 
(hiccup) — he's undher my thumb (hiccup) ." 

"Be aisy," said the other, contemptuously, who thought 
this was a mere drunken delusion of Larry's. 

" I tell you I'm his masther !" said Larry, with a drunken 
flourish of bis arm ; and he continued bragging of his power 
over the squire in various ejaculations, the exact meaning of 
which our friend of the blunderbuss could not fathom, but 
Andy heard enough to shew him that the discovery of the post- 
office affair was what Larry alluded to. 

That Larry, a close, cunning, circumventing rascal, should 
so far betray the source of his power over Egan may seem 
strange ; but be it remembered Larry was drunk, a state of 
weakness which his caution generally guarded him from falling 
into, but which being in, his foible was bragging of his influence, 
and so running the risk of losing it. 

The men continued to talk together for some time, and the 
tenor of the conversation was, that Larry assured his companion 
he might carry off the girl without fear of Egan, but her name 
Andy could not discover. His own name he heard more than 
once, and voluptuous raptures poured forth about lovely 
lips and hips and ankles from the herculean knight of the 
blunderbuss, amidst the maudlin admiration and hiccups of 
Larry, who continued to brag of his power, and profess nis 
readiness to stand by his friend in carrying off the girl. 

" Then," said the Hercules, with an oath, " I'll soon have 
you in my arms m_ lovely — " 

The name was lost again. 

Their colloquy was now interrupted by the approach ot a 
man and woman, the former being the person for whose ap- 


pearance Larry made so many inquiries when he first appeared 
to Andy as the hungry giant ; the other was the sister of the 
knight of the blunderbuss. Larry having hiccupped his anger 
against the man for making them wait so long for the bacon, 
the woman said he should not wait longer without his supper 
now, for that she would go down and fry the rashers im- 
mediately. She then disappeared through the ground, and the 
men all followed. 

Andy drew his breath freely once more, and with caution 
raised himself gradually from the ground with a careful 
circumspection, lest any of the subterranean. community might 
be watchers on the hill ; and when he was satisfied he was free 
from observation, he stole away from the spot with stealthy 
steps for about twenty paces, and there, as well as the dark- 
ness would permit, after taking such landmarks as would help 
him to retrace his way to the still, if requisite, he dashed down 
the hill at the top of his speed. This pace he did not 
moderate until he had placed nearly a mile between him 
and the scene of his adventure, he then paced slowly to regain 
his breath. His head was in a strange whirl; mischief was 
threatened against some one of whose name he was ignorant ; 
Squire Egan was declared to be in the power of an old rascal ; 
this grieved Andy most of all, for he felt he was the cause of 
his old master's dilemma. 

" Oh ! to think I should bring him into trouble," said 
Andy, " the kind and good masther he was to me ever, and I 
live co tell it like a blackguard — throth I'd rather be hanged 
any day than the masther would come to throuble — maybe if 
I gave myself up and was hanged like a man at once, that 
would settle it ; faith if I thought it would, I'd do it sooner 
than Squire Egan should come to throuble ! »nd poor Andy 
ppoke just what he felt. " Or would it do to kill that blackguard 
Hogan ? sure they could do no more than hang me afther* and 
that would save the masther, and be all one to me, for they 
often towld me I'd be hanged. But then there's my sowl," said 
Andy, and he paused at the thought ; " if they hanged me for 
the letthers, it would be only for a mistake, and sure then I'd 
have a chance o' gWy ; for sure I might go to glory through 
a mistake ; but it I killed a man on purpose, sure it would he 
slappin' the gates of Heaven in my own face. Faix, I'll spake 
to Father Blake about it."+ 

* How often has tne sanguinary penal code of past years suggested 
this reflection and provoked tluj guilt it was meant to awe ! Happily 
now a\x lawj are milder, and more protective from their mildness. 

j In *he foregoing passage, Andy stumbles on uttering a quaint 
nleasantry, for it is partly true as well as droll — the notion of a mm 

lb% H»NDT ANDY. 


The following day was that eventful one which should 
witness the return of either Edward Egan, Esq., or the 
Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain, as member for the county. 
There was no doubt, in any reasonable man's mind, as to the 
real majority of Egan, but the numbers were sufficiently close 
to give the sheriff an opportunity of doing a bit of business to 
oblige his friends, and therefore he declared the Honourable 
Sackville Scatterbrain duly elected. Great was the uproar; 
the people hissed, and hooted, and groaned, for which the 
Honourable Sackville very good-naturedly returned them his 
thanks. Murphy snapped his fingers in the sheriffs face, and 
told him his honourable friend should not long remain member, 
for that he must be unseated on petition, and that he would 
prove the return most corrupt, with which words he again 
snapped his fingers in the sheriff's face. 

The sheriff threatened to read the riot act if such conduct 
was repeated. 

Egan took off his hat, and thanked him for his honourable, 
upright, and impartial conduct, whereupon all Egan's friends 
took off their hats also, and made profound bows to the func- 
tionary, and then laughed most uproariously. Counter laughs 
were returned from the opposite party, who begged to remind 
the Eganites of the old saying, "that they might laugh who win." 
A cross-fire of sarcasms was kept up amidst the two parties as 
they were crushing forward out of the court-house ; and at the 
door, before entering his carriage, Scatterbrain very politely 
addressed Egan, and trusted that though they had met as 
rivals on the hustings they nevertheless parted friends, and ex- 
pressing the highest respect for the squire, offered his hand in 

gaining Paradise through a mistake. Our intentions too seldom lead us 
there, but rather tend the other way, for a certain place is said to be 
paved with "good" ones, and surely "bad" ones would not lead us 
upwards. Then the phrase of a man " slapping the gates of Heaven in 
his own face," is one of those wild poetic figures of speech in which the 
Irish peasantry often indulge. The phrase " slapping the door" is every 
day and common; but when applied to "the gates of Heaven," and "in 
a man's own face," the common phrase becomes fine. But how often the 
commonest things become poetry by the fitness of their application, 
though poetasters, and p8ej>l» of small minds, think greatness of thought 
lies in bis w u ~ " 


Kg:in, equally good-hearted as his opponent, shook his hand 
cordially; declaring he attributed to him none of the blame 
which attached to other persons. " Besides, my dear sir," said 
Egan, laughing, " I should be a very ill-natured person to 
grudge you so small an indulgence as being member of parlia- 
ment/bra month or so." 

Scattcrbrain returned the laugh, good-humouredly, and 
replied that, " at all events, he had the seat." 

" Yes, my dear sir," said Egan, " and make the most of it 
while you have it. In short, I shall owe you an obligation 
when 1 go over to St. Stephen's, for you will have just aired 
my seat for me — good bye. 

They parted with smiles, and drove to their respective 
homes ; but as even doubtful possession is preferable to expec- 
tation*for the time being, it is certain that Neck-or-nothing 
Hall rang with more merriment that night on the reality of the 
present, than Merryvale did on the hope of the future. 

Even O'Grady, as he lay with his wounded arm on the sofa, 
found more healing in the triumph of the hour than from all 
the medicaments of the foregoing week, and insisted on going 
down stairs and joining the party at supper. 

"Gusty, dear," said his wife, "you know the doctor 

"Hang the doctor!" 

"Your arm, my love." 

" I wish you'd leave off pitying my arm, and have some 
compassion on my stomach." 

" The doctor said — " 

" There are oysters in the house ; I'll do myself more good 
by the use of an oyster knife than all the lancets in the 
College of Surgeons." 

" But your wound, dear ?" 

"Are they Carlingfords or Poldoodies?" 

" 80 fresh, love." 

•' So much the better." 

" Your wound I mean, dear ?" 

" Nicely opened." 

" Only dressed an hour ago ?" 

" "With some mustard, pepper, and vinegar." 

"Indeed, Gusty, if you take my advice — " 

"I'd rather have oysters any day." 

O'Grady sat up on the sofa as he spoke and requested his 
wife to say no more about the matter, but put on his cravat. 
While she was getting it from his wardrobe, hisinind wandered 
from supper to the pension, which he looked upon as secure 
aow that Scatterbrain was returned ; and oyster banks gave 


place to the Bant of Ireland, which rose in a pleasing image 
before O'Grady's imagination. The wife now returned with 
the cravat, still dreading the result of eating to her husband, 
and her mind occupied wholly with the thought of supper, 
while O'Grady was wrapped in visions of a pension. 

" You won't take it, Gusty, dear," said his wife, with all the 
insinuation of manner she could command. 

" Won't I faith," said O'Grady. " Maybe you think I don't 
want it?" 

"Indeed, I don't, dear." 

"Are you mad, woman? Is it taking leave of the few 
senses you ever had you are ?" 

" T' won't agree with you." 

"Won't it? just wait till I'm tried." 

" Well, love, how much do you expect to be allowed ?" 

" Why I can't expect much just yet — we must begin gently 
- — feel the pulse first ; but I should hope, by way of start, that 
six or seven hundred — " 

"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed his wife, dropping the 
cravat from her hands. 

"What the devil is the woman shouting at?'' said O'Grady. 

" Six or seven hundred ! ! !" exclaimed Mrs. O'Grady ; " my 
dear, there's not as much in the house." 

" No, nor has not been for many a long day ; I know that a9 
well as you," said O'Grady ; but I hope we shall get as much 
for all that." 

"My dear, where could you get them?" asked the wife, 
timidly, who began to think his head was a little light. 

"From the treasury, to be sure.'' 

" The treasury, my dear Y" said the wife, still at fault ; 
' how could you get oysters from the treasury ?" 

" Oysters ?" exclaimed O'Grady, whose turn it was now to 
wonder, " who talks of oysters !" 

" My dear, I thought you said you'd eat six or seven 
hundred of oysters!'' 

"Pooh! pooh! woman; it is of the pension I'm talking — 
six or seven hundred pounds — pounds — cash — per annum; now 
I suppose you'll put on my cravat. I think a man may be al- 
lowed to eat his supper who expects six hundred a-year." 

A great many people besides O'Grady order suppers, and 
dinners too, on the expectation of less than six hundred _ a- 
year. Perhaps there is no more active agent for sending 
people into the Insolvent Court than the aforesaid " expecta- 

O'Grady went clown stairs and was heartily welcomed by 
Scatterbrain on his re-appearance from his sick room ; bjit 

hand; A«i>y. 255 

Mrs. O'Grady suggested, that, for fear any excess would send 
him back there for a longer time, a very moderate indulgence 
at the table should suffice. She begged the honourable member 
to back her argument, which he did ; and O'Grady promised 
temperance, but begged the immediate appearance of the 
oysters, for he experienced that eager desire which delicate 
health so often prompts for some particular food. 

Andy was laying the table at the time, and was ordered to 
expedite matters as much as possible. 

" Yis, ma'am.'' 

"You're sure the oysters are all good, Andy ?" 

" Sartin, ma'am." 

" Because the last oysters you know — " 

"Oh, yis, ma'am — were bad, ma'am — bekase they had their 
mouths all open. I remember, ma'am ; but when I'm towld a 
thing once, I never forget it again ; and you towld me when 
they opened their mouths once they were no good. So you 
see, ma'am, I'll never bring up bad oysthers again, ma'am." 

" Very good, Andy ; and you have kept them in a cool 
place I hope." 

"Faix they're cowld enough where I put them, ma'am." 

" Very well ; bring them up at once." 

Off went Andy, and returned with all the haste he could 
with a large dish heaped up with oysters. 

O'Grady rubbed his hands with the impatience of a true 
lover of the crustaceous delicacy, and Seatterbrain, eager to 
help him, flourished his oyster-knife ; but before he had time 
to commence operations the olfactory nerves of the company 
gave evidenee that the oysters were rather suspicious ; every 
one began sniffing, and a universal " Oh, dear !" ran round the 

"Don't you smell it, Furlong?" said Seatterbrain, who 
v.-as 60 lost in looking at Augusta's mustachios that he did not 
mind anything else. 

" Isn't it horrid ?" said O'Grady, with a look of disgust. 

Furlong thought he alluded to the mustachio, and replied 
wiili an assurance that he "liked it of all things." 

"•Like it?" said O'Grady; " you've a queer taste. What 
do you think of it, Miss ?" added he to Augusta, " it's just 
u::der your nose." 

L'urlong thought this rather personal, even from a father. 

11 I'll try my knife on one," said Seatterbrain, with a flourish 
of the oyster knife, which Furlong thought resembled the 
preliminary trial of a barber's razor. 

Furlong thought this worse than O'Grady ; but he hesitated 
to reply to his chief, and an honourable into the bargain. 


In the meantime, Scatterbrain opened an oyiver, which 
Furlong, in his embarrassment and annoyance, did not per- 

" Cut off the beard," said O'Grady, " I don't like it." 

This nearly made Furlong speak, but considering O'Grady's 
temper and ill-health, he hesitated, till he saw Augusta rubbing 
her eye, in consequence of a small splinter of the oyster-shell 
havinar struck it from Scatterbrain's mismanagement of his 
knife ; but Furlong thought she was crying, and then he could 
be silent no longer ; he went over to where she sat, and with 
a very affectionate demonstration in his action, said, " Never 
mind them, dear Gussy — never mind — don't cwy — I love her 
dear little moustachioes, I do." He gave a gentle pat on 
the back of the neck as he spoke, and it was returned by an 
uncommonly smart box on the ear from the young lady, and 
the whole party looked thunderstruck. "Dear Gussy" cried 
for spite, and stamped her way out of the room, followed by 

"Let them go," said O'Grady 5 "they'll make it up 

" These oysters are all bad," said Scatterbrain. 

O'Grady began to swear at his disappointment — he had 
set his heart on oysters. Mrs. O'Grady rang the bell — Andy 

"Htw dare you bring up such oysters as these?" roared 

" The misthns ordhered them, sir." 

" I to/d you never to bring up bad oysters," said she. 

" Them's not bad, ma'am," said Andy. 

" Have you a nose ? " says O'Grady. 

" Yes, sir." 

" And can't you smell them, then?" 

" Faix I smelt them for the last three days, sir." 

" And how could you say they were good, then?" asked 
his mistress. 

" Sure you tould me, ma'am, that if they didn't open their 
mouths they were good, and I'll be on my book oath them 
oysters never opened their mouths since I had them, for I laid 
them on a cool flag in the krtchen and put the jack weight 
over them." 

Notwithstanding O'Grady's rage, Scatterbrain could not 
help roaring with laughter at Andy's novel contrivance for 
keeping oysters fresh. Andy was desired to take the " ancient 
and fish-like smell" out of the room, amidst jeers and abuse; 
and, as he fumbled his way to the kitchen in the dark, lament- 
ing the hard fate of servants, who can never give satisfaction 

HANDT AND». V-'57 

though they do everything they are bid, lie went head over 
heels down stf.irs, which event, was reported to the whole house 
as soon as it happened, by the enormous clatter of the broken 
dish, the oysters, and Andy, as they all rolled one over the 
other to the bottom. 

O'Grady, having missed the cool supper he intended, and 
had longed for, was put into a rage by the disappointment; 
and as hunger with O'Grady was only to be appeased by 
broiled bones, accordingly, against all the endeavours of every- 
body, the bells rang violently through the house, and the ogre- 
like cry of " broiled bones !" resounded high and low. 

The reader is sufficiently well acquainted with O'Grady by 
this time to know, that of course, when once he had determined 
to have his broiled bone, nothing on the face of the earth could 
prevent it but the want of anything to broil, or the immediate 
want of his teeth ; and as his masticators were in order, and 
something in the house which could carry mustard and pepper, 
the invalid primed and loaded himself with as much com- 
bustible matter as exploded in a fever the next day. 

The supper party, however, in the hope of getting him to 
bed, separated soon ; and as Scatterbrain and Furlong were to 
start early in the morning for Dublin, the necessity of their 
retiring to rest was pleaded. The honourable member had not 
been long in his room when he heard a tap at his door, and his 
order to " come in," was followed by the appearance of Handy 

" I found somethin' on the road nigh the town to-day, sir, 
and I thought it might be yours, may be," said Andy, pro- 
ducing a small pocket-book. 

The honourable member disavowed the ownership. 

"Well, there's something else I want to speak to your 
honour about." 

"What is it, Handy?" 

" I want your honour to see the account of the money your 
honour gave me that I spint at the shebeen* upon the 'lecthors 
that couldn't be accommodated at Mrs. Fay's." 

" Oh ! never mind it, Andy ; if there's anything over, keep 
it yourself." 

" Thank your honour, but I must make the account all the 
same, if you plaze, for I'm going to Father Blake, to my dutyt 
soon, and I must have my conscience as clear as I can, and I 
would'nt like to be keepin' money back." 

"But if I give you the money, what matter?" 

*i'd rather you'd just look over this little bit of a count if 

Low public-house. t Confession. 



you plaze," said Andy, producing a dirty piece of paper, witb 
some nearly inscrutable hieroglyphics upon it. 

Scatterbrain commenced an examination of this literary 
phenomena from sheer curiosity, asking Andy at the same 
time if he wrote it. 

" Yis, sir,'' said Andy ; " but you see the man couldn't 
keep the count of the piper's dhrink at all, it was so confusm', 
and so I was obliged to pay him for that every time the piper 
dhrunk, and keep it separate, and the 'lecthors that got their 
dinner afther the bill was made out I put down myself too, 
and that's it you see, sir, both ating and dhrinkin." 

To Dhrinkin A blinD piper everry day 

wan and tin Pens six dais " 16 6 

To atein four Tin Illikthurs And Thare i 1 8 8 

horses on Chewsdai } 14 

Toe til . 2 19 4 

Lan lord Bil For All Be four 7 17 i\ 

10 18 121 

" Then I owe you money, instead of your having a balanci 
in hand, Andy," said the member. 

" Oli, no matter your honour, it's not for that I showed 
you the account." 

"It's very like it, though," said Scatterbrain, laughing; 
" here, Andy, here are a couple of pounds for you, take them, 
Andy — take it and be off; your bill is worth the money," and 
Scatterbrain closed the door on the great accountant. 

Andy next went to Furlong's room, to know if the pocket- 
book belonged to him ; it did not, but Furlong, though he dis- 
claimed the ownership had that small curiosity which prompts 
little minds to pry into what does not belong to them, and 
taking the pocket-book into his hands, he opened it, and 
fumbled over its leaves ; in the doing of which a small piece of 
folded paper fell from one of the pockets unnoticed by the im- 
pertinent inquisitor or Andy, to whom he returned the book 
when he had gratified his senseless curiosity. 

Andy withdrew, Furlong retired to rest, and as it was it 
the grey of an autumnal morning he dressed himself, the 
paper still remained unobserved ; so that the housemaid, or 
setting the room to rights, found it, and fancying Miss Augusts: 
was the proper person to confide Mister Furlong's stray 
papers to, she handed that young lady the manuscript whicfc 
bore the following copy of verses :— 


| tsu ne'tr ,forgtt ©bee. 

It Ss the chimo, the hoar draws near 

When you and 1 must sever; 
Alas it must be many a year, 

And it may bf< for ever ! 
[Inn- long till we shall meet again: 

How short since first I met thee; 
How brief the bliss — how long the p&ia — 

For I can ne'er forget thee. 

Ton said my heart was cold and stern • 

You doubted love when strongest : 
hi future days you'll live to learn 

Proud hearts can love the longest. 
Oh! sometimes think, when press'd to h«,i- 

When flippant tongues beset thee, 
That all must love thee, when thou'rt n-iir 

But one will ne'er forget thee I 


The changeful sand doth only know 

T!^e shallow tide and latest: 
The rocks have mark'd its highest flow, 

The deepest and the greatest ; 
And deeper still the flood-marks grow : — 

So, since the hour I met tliee, 
The more the tide of time doth flow, 

The less can 1 forget thee ! 

When Augusta saw the lines she was charmed. She disco- 
vered her Furlong to be a poet ! That the lines were his there 
was no doubt — they were found in his room, and of course they 
must be his, just as partial critics say certain Irish airs must be 
English, because they are to be found in Queen Elizabeth's 

Augusta was so charmed with the lines that she amused 
herself for a long time in hiding them under the sofa cushion 
and making her pet dog find and fetch them. Her pleasure 
however was interrupted by her sister Charlotte remarking, 
when the lines were shown to her in triumph, that the writing 
was not Furlong's, but in a lady's hand. 

Even as beer is suddenly soured by thunder, so the electric 
influence of Charlotte's words converted all Augusta had been 


brewing to acidity; jealousy stung her like a wasp, and she 
boxed her dog's ears as he was barking for another run with 
the verses. 

" A lady's hand ?" said Augusta, snatching the paper from 
her sister ; " I declare if it aint ! the wretch — so he receives 
lines from ladies." 

" I think I know the han.1, too," said Charlotte. 

" You do ?" exclaimed Augusta, with flashing eyes. 

" Yes, I'm certain it is Fanny Dawson's writing." 

" So it is," said Augusta, looking at the paper as if her eyes 
could have burnt it ; " to be sure — he was there before he came 

" Only for two days,'' said Charlotte, trying to slake th . 
flame she had raised. 

"But I've heard that girl always makes conquests at first 
sight," returned Augusta, half crying ; " and what do I see 
here ? some words in pencil.'' 

The words were so faint as to be scarcely perceptible, but 
Augusta deciphered them ; they were written on the margin, 
beside a circumflex which embraced the last four lines of the 
*e<'ind verse, so that it stood thus: — 

Oh ! sometimes think, when press'd to hear, \ Dearest, f 
When flippant tongues beset thee, f will. 

That all must love thee when thou'rt near, £ 
But one will ne'er forget thee ! J 

" Will you, indeed ?" said Augusta, crushing the paper in 
her hand, and biting it ; "but I must not destroy it — I must 
keep it to prove his treachery to his face." She threw herself 
on the sofa as she spoke, and gave vent to an outpour 0/ 
«niteful tears. 


How many chapters have been written about love verses— 
and how many more might be written ! — might, would, could, 
should, or ought to be written — I will venture to say, mill be 
written ! I have a mind to fulfil my own prophecy and write 
one myself; but no — my story must go on. However, I will 
Bay, that it is quite curious in how many ways the same little 


bit of paper may influence different people : the poem whose 
literary merit may be small, becomes precious when some 
valued hand has transcribed the lines ; and the verses whose 
measure and meaning' viewed in type might win favour and 
yield pleasure, ehoot poison from their very sweetness, when 
read in some particular hand and under particular circum- 
stances. It was so with the copy of verses Augusta had just 
read— they were Fanny Dawson's manuscript— that was certain 
—and found in the room of Augusta's lover; therefore 
Augusta was wretched. But these same lines had given ex- 
quisite pleasure to another person, who was now nearly as 
miserable as Augusta in having lost them. It is possible the 
reader guesses that person to be Edward O'Connor, for it was 
he who had lost the pocket-book in which those (to him) pre- 
cious lines were contained ; and if the little case had hela all 
the bank-notes he ever owned in his life, their loss would have 
been regarded less than that bit of manuscript, which had often 
yielded him the most exquisite pleasure, and was now inflict- 
ing on Augusta the bitterest anguish. 

To make this intelligible to the reader, it is necessary to ex- 
plain under what circumstances the lines were written. At 
one time, Edward, doubting the likelihood of making his 
way at home, was about to go to India and push his fortunes 
there; and at that period, those lines, breathing of farewell — 
implying the dread of rivals during absence — and imploring 
remembrance of his eternal love, were written and given to 
Fanny ; and she, with that delicacy of contrivance, so pecu- 
liarly a woman's, hit upon the expedient of copying his own 
verses and sending them to him in her writing, as an indication 
that the spirit of the lines was her own. 

But Edward saw that his father, who was advanced in 
years, looked upon a separation from his son as an eternal one, 
and the thought gave so much pain, that Edward gave up the 
idea of expatriation. Shortly after, however, the misunder- 
standing with Major Dawson took place, and Fanny and 
Edward were as much severed as if dwelling in different zones. 
Under such circumstances, those lines were peculiarly precious, 
and many a kiss had Edward impressed upon them, though 
Augusta thought them fitter for the exercise of her teeth than 
her lips. In fact, Edward did little else than think of Fanny ; 
and it is possible his passion might have degenerated into 
mere love-sickness, and enfeebled him, had not his desire of 
proving himself worthy of his mistress spurred him to ex- 
ertion, in the hope of future distinction. But still the tone of 
tender lament pervaded all his poems, and the same pocket- 
book whence the verses which caused so much commotion fell 


contained the following also, shewing how entirely Faimj 
possessed his heart and occupied his thoughts :— 

Wl\ik % Smn Sinks to gcst 


When the sun sinks to rest, 
And the star of the west 

Sheds its soft silver light o'er the sou j 
What sweet thoughts arise, 
As the dim twilight dies — 

For then I am thinking of thee ! 
Oh \ then crowding fast 
Come the joys of the past, 

Through the dimness of days long gone bj 
JJke the stars peeping out, 
Through the darkness ahout, 

From the soft silent depth of the sky. 

And thus, as the night 
Grows more lovely and bright, 

With the olust'ring of planet and star, 
So this darkness of mine 
Wins a radiance divine 

From the light that still lingers afar 
Then welcome the night, 
With its soft holy light! 

In its silence my heart is more free 
The rude world to" forget, 
AVhere no pleasure I've met 

Since the hour that I parted from thes. 

But we must leave love verses, and ask pardon for the few re> 
Harks which the subject tempted, and pursue our story. 

The first prompting of Augusta's anger, when she had 
recovered her burst of passion, was to write " such a letter " to 
Furlong — and she spent half a day at the work, but she could 
not please herself — she tore twenty at least, and determined, a5 
last, not to write at all, but just wait till he returned and over- 
whelm him with reproaches. But though she could not com- 
pose a letter, she composed herself by the endeavour, which 
acted as a sort of safety-valve to let off the superabundant 
steam ; and it is wonderful how general is this result of sitting 
down to write angry letters : people vent themselves of their 
spleen on the uncomplaining paper, which silently receives 
words a listener would not Witt* a pen for our second, des- 


perate satisfaction is obtained with only an effusion of ink, and 
when once the pent-up bitterness has oozed out in all the 
blackness of that fluid — most appropriately made of the bf.»t 
galls — the time so spent, and the " letting of words," if I may 
use the phrase, has cooled our judgment and our passions to- 
gether ; and the tir.-t letter is torn : 'tis too severe ; we write a 
.-econd ; we blot and interline till it is nearly illegible ; we 
begin a third ; till at last we are tired out with our own angry 
feelings, and throw our scribbling by with a " Pshaw 1 what's 
the use of it I " or, " It's not worth my notice ; " or, still better, 
arrive at the conclusion, that we preserve our own dignity best 
by writing with temper, though we may be called upon to be 

Furlong at this time was on his road to Dublin in happy 
unconsciousness of Augusta's rage against him, and planning 
what pretty little present he should send her specially, for his 
head was naturally running on such matters, as he had quan- 
tities of commissions to execute in the millinery line for Mrs. 
O'Giady, who thought it high time to be getting up Augusta's 
weddinsr-dresses, and Andy was to be despatched the following 
day to Dublin to take charge of a cargo of bandboxes back from 
that city to Iseck-or-nothing Hall. Furlong had received a 
thousand charges from the ladies, "to be sure to lose no time" 
in doing his devoir in their behalf, and he obeyed so strictly, and 
was so active in laying milliners and mercers under contri- 
butions, .that Andy was enabled to start the day after his 
arrival, sorely against Andy's will, for he would gladly have 
remained amidst the beauty and grandeur and wonders of 
Dublin, which struck him dumb for the day he was amongst 
them, but save him food for conversation for many a day after. 
Furlong, after racking his invention about the souvenir to his 
"dear Gussy," at length fixed on a fan, as the most suitable 
gift ; for Gussy had been quizzed at home about "blushing," 
and all that sort of thing, and the puerile perceptions of the 
attache saw something very smart in sending her wherewith 
" to hide her blushes." Then the fan was the very pink of 
fans; it had quivers and arrows upon it, and bunches of hearts 
looped up in azure festoons, and doves perched upon them ; 
though Augusta's little si.-ter, who was too young to know 
what hearts and doves were, when she saw them for the first 
time, said they were pretty little birds picking at apples. The 
fan was packed up in a mce case, and then on scented note 
inner did the dear dandy indite a bit of namby-pamby 
baiii.-'e to his fair one, which he thought excessively 
Ciever : — 

" Deas Ducky Darli. v o. — You know how nau?!:;,'/ tliev 


are in quizzing you about a little something, / won t say what , 
you will guess, I dare say — but I send you a little toy, I worth 
say what, on which Cupid might write this label after the 
doctor's fashion, ' To be used occasionally, when the patient ii 
much troubled with the symptoms.' 

" Ever, ever, ever yours, 
" P.S. Take care how you open it." " J. F. 

Such was the note that Handy Andy was given, with par- 
ticular injunctions to deliver it the first thing on his arrival at 
the Hall to Miss Augusta, and to be sure to take most particular 
care of the little case ; all wmoh Andy faithfully promised to do 
But Andy's usual destiny prevailed, and an unfortunate ex- 
change of parcels quite upset all Furlong's sweet little plan of his 
pretty present and his ingenious note : for as Andy was just 
taking his departure, Furlong said he might as well leave some- 
thing for him at Reade's, the cutler, as he passed through 
College Green, and he handed him a case of razors which 
wanted setting, which Andy popped into his pocket, and as the 
fan case and that of the razors were much of a size, and both 
folded up, Andy left the fan at the cutler's and took the case 
of razors by way of present to Augusta. Fancy the rage of a 
young lady with a very fine pair of moustachios getting such 
a souvenir from her lover, with a note, too, every word of which 
applied to a beard and a razor, as patly as to a blush and a fan— 
and this, too, when her jealousy was aroused and his fidelity 
more than doubtful in her estimation. 

Great was the row in Neck-or nothing Hall; and when, 
after three days, Furlong came down, the nature of his re- 
ception may be better imagined than described. It was a 
difficult matter, through the storm which raged around him, 
to explain all the circumstances satisfactorily, but by dint of 
hard work, the verses were at length disclaimed, the razors 
disavowed, and Andy at last sent for to " clear matters up." 

Andy was a hopeful subject for such a purpose, and by his 
blundering answers nearly set them all by the ears again ; the 
upshot of the affair was, that Andy, used as he was to good 
scoldings, never had such a torrent of abuse poured on him in j 
his life, and the affair ended in Andy being dismissed from ! 
Neck-or-nothing Hall on the instant ; so he relinquished his 
greasy livery for his own rags again, and trudged homewards, 
to his mother's cabin. 

" She'll be as mad as a hatter with me," said Andy ; " bad 
luck to them for razhirs, they cut me out o' my place : but I 
often heard cowld steel is unlucky, and sure I know it now. 
Oh ! but I'm always unf'ort'nate in having- cruk«! messages. 


We!!, it can't be helped ; and one good thing at all events is, 
I'll have time enough now to go and spake to Father Blake ; " 
and with this sorry pk'ce of satisfaction poor Andy content*'''. 


The Father Blake, of whom Andy spoke, was more familiarly 
known by the name of Father Phil, by which title Andy him- 
self would have named him, had he been telling how Fathei 
Phil cleared a fair, or equally " leathered'' both the belligerent 
parties in a faction-fight, or turned out the contents (or mal- 
contents) of a public-house at an improper hour; but when he 
spoke of his Reverence respecting ghostly matters, the impor- 
tance of the subject begot higher consideration for the man, 
and the familiar " Father Phil " was dropped for the more 
respectful title of Father Blake. By either title, or in whatever 
capacity, the worthy Father had great influence over his parish, 
and there was a free-and-easy way with him, even in doing 
the most solemn duties, which agreed wonderfully with the 
devil-may-care spirit of Paddy Stiff and starched formality in 
any way is repugnant to the very nature of Irishmen ; and I 
believe one of the surest ways of converting all Ireland from 
the Romish faith would be found, if we could only manage to 
have her mass celebrated with the dry coldness of the Reforma- 
tion. This may seem ridiculous at first sight, and I grant it 
is a grotesque way of viewing the subject, but yet there may 
be truth in it; and to consider it for a moment seriously, 
louk at the fact, that the north of Ireland is the stronghold of 
Protestantism, and that the north is the least Irish portion of 
the island. There is a strong admixture of Scotch there, and 
all who know the country will admit that there is nearly as 
much difference between men from the north and south of 
Ireland, as from different countries. The Northerns retain 
much of the cold formality and unbending hardness of the 
straneer-settlers from whom thev are descended, while the 
{southerns exhibit that wavm-hearted- ^ely, and poetical tem- 


perament for which the country is celebrated. The prevailing 
national characteristics of Ireland are not to be found in the 
north, where Protestantism flourishes ; they are to be found in 
the south and west, where it has never taken root. And 
though it has never seemed to strike theologians, that in their 
very natures some people are more adapted to receive one 
faith than another, yet I believe it to be true, and perhaps not 
quite unworthy of consideration. There are forms, it is true, 
and many in the Romish church, but they are not cold forms, 
but attractive rather, to a sensitive people ; besides, I believe 
ihose very forms, when observed the least formally, are the 
most influential on the Irish ; and perhaps the splendours of a 
High Mass in the gorgeous temple of the Holy City would 
appeal less to the affections of an Irish peasant, than the ser- 
vice he witnesses in some half-thatched ruin by a lone hill 
side, familiarly hurried through by a priest who has sharpened 
his appetite by a mountain ride of some fifteen miles, and is 
saying mass (for the third time most likely) before breakfast, 
which consummation of his morning's exercise he is anxious 
to arrive at. 

It was just in such a chapel, and under such circumstances, 
that Father Blake was celebrating the mass at which Andy 
was present, and after which he hoped to obtain a word of 
advice from the worthy Father, who was much more sought 
after on such occasions than his more sedate superior who pre- 
sided over the spiritual welfare of the parish— and whose 
solemn celebration of the mass was by no means so agreeable 
as the lighter service of Father Phil. The Rev. Dominiek 
Dowling 1 was austere and long-winded ; his mass had an 
oppressive effect on his congregation, and from fee kneeling 
multitude might be seen eyes fearfully looking up from under 
bent brows ; and low breathings and subdued groans often rose 
above the silence of his congregation, who felt like sinners, and 
whose imaginations were filled with the thoughts of Heaven's 
anger ; while the good-humoured face of the light-hearted 
Father Phil produced a corresponding brightness on the looks 
f his hearers, who turned up their whole faces in trustfulness 
to the mercy of that Heaven whose propitiatory offering their 
pastor was making for them in cheerful tones, which associated 
well with thoughts of pardon and salvation. 

Father Dominiek poured forth his spiritual influence like a 
strong dark stream that swept down the hearer — hopelessly 
struggling to keep his head above the torrent, and dreading to 
be overwhelmed at the next word. Father Phil's religion 
bubbled out like a mountain rill — bright, musical, and refresh- 

HANDT ANE^v 207 

big. Father Dominick's people had decidedly nee<i of cork 
jackets ; Father Phil's might drink and be refreshed. 

But with all this intrinsic worth, he was, at the same time, 
a twange man in exterior manners ; for, with an abundance 
of real piety, he had an abruptness of delivery and a strange 
way of mixing 1 up an occasional remark to his congregation in 
the midst of the celebration of the mass, which might well 
startle a stranger; but this very want of formality made him 
beloved by the people, and they would do ten times as much 
ior Father Phil as tor Father Dominick. 

On the Sunday in question, when Andy attended the 
chapel, Father Phil intended delivering an address to his flock 
Irom the altar, urging them to the necessity of bestirring 
themselves in the repairs of the chapel, which was in a very 
Ci lapidated condition, and at one end let in the rain through 
its worn-out thatch. A subscription was necessary ; and to 
raise this among - a very impoverished people was no easy 
matter. The weather happened to be unfavourable, which 
was most favourable to Father Phil's purpose, for the rain 
dropped its arguments through the roof upon the kneeling 
ptople below in the most convincing manner; and as they 
ei.dtavouied to get out of the wet, they pressed round the 
t-ltar as much as they could, for which they were reproved 
very smartly by his Reverence in the very midst of the nub.;, 
fcnd these interruptions occurred sometimes in the most serious 
p. aces, producing a ludicrous effect, of which the worthy 
Father was quite unconscious, in his great anxiety to make the 
people repair the chapel. 

A LL- woman was elbowing her way towards the rails oi 
the altar, and Father Phil, casting a sidelong glance at her, 
sent her to the right-about, while he interrupted his appeal to 
heaven to address her thus : 

« Agnus Dei — you'd better jump over the rails of the 
althar, I think. — Go along out o' that, there's plenty o' room 
in tin* chapel below there." 

Then he would turn to the altar, and proceed with the 
tervice, till turning again to the congregation he perceived 
some fresh offender. 

«* Orate, /retires ! — will you mind what I say to you and 
go along out of that ? there's room below there. Thrue for you, 
Mrs. Finn — if s a shame for him to be thramplin' on you. _ Go 
along, Darby Casy, down there, and kneel in the rain, its a 
pity you haven't a dacent woman's cloak undher you 
indeed ! — Orate, fratres ! " 

Then would the service proceed again, and while he prayed 
b silence a4 '" * altar, the shuffling of feet edging out of the 


ha:<dy anby. 

rain would disturb Lim, and casting a backward glance, he 
would say — 

" I bear you there — can't you be quiet and not be disturbin' 
the mass, you haythens." 

Again he proceeded in silence, till the crying of a child 
interrupted him. He looked round quickly— 

" You'd better kill the child, I think, thramplin' on him, 
Lavery. Go out o' that — your conduct is scandalous— 
Dominus vobiscum ! " 

Again he turned to pray, and after some time he made an 
interval in the service to address his congregation on the 
subject of the repairs, and produced a paper containing the 
names of subscribers to that pious work who had already con- 
tributed, by way of example to those who had not. 

" Here it is," said Father Phil, " here it is, and no deny- 
ing it — down in black and white ; but if they who give are 
down in black, how much blacker are those who have not 
given at all ; — but I hope they will be ashamed of themselves, 
when I howld up those to honour who have contributed to the 
uphowlding of the house of God. And isn't it ashamed o' 
yourselves you ought to be, to leave His house in such a con- 
dition — and doesn't it rain a'most every Sunday, as if He 
wished to remind you of your duty — arn't you wet to the skin 
a'most every Sunday ? — Oh, God is good to you ! to put you 
in mind of your duty, giving you such bitther cowlds that you 
are coughing and sneezin' every Sunday to that degree that 
you can't hear the blessed mass for a comfort and a benefit to 
you ; and so you'll go on sneezin' until you put a good thatch 
on the place, and prevent the appearance of the evidence from 
Heaven against you every Sunday, which is condemning you 
before your faces, and behind your backs too, for don't I see 
this minit a strame o' wather that might turn a mill running 
down Micky Mackavoy'a back, between the ■sollar of his coat 
and his shirt ? " 

Here a laugh ensued at the expense of Micky Mackavoy, 
who certainly was under a very heavy drip from the iniperra 

" And is it laughing you are, you haythens ?" said Father 
Phil, reproving the merriment which he himself had purposely 
created, that he might reprove it. " Laughing is it you are— at 
your backslidings and insensibility to the honour of God- 
laughing, because when you come here to be saved you are tost 
intirely with the wet ; and how, I ask you, are my words ot 
comfort to enter your hearts, when the rain is pouring down 
your backs at the same time ? Sure I have no chance of turning 
your hearts while yon are undher rain that might turn a mill— 

ha::dy andt. 2G9 

tut c!ic<- put a good roof on the house and I will inundate you 
with piety I Maybe it's Father Dominiek you would like to 
have coming among you, who would grind your hearts to 
powdher with his heavy words." (Here a low murmur of 
dissent ran through the throng.) ''Hal ha I so you wouldn't 
like it, I see. Very well, very well — take care then, for if I 
find you insensible to my moderate reproofs, you hard-hearted 
haytfiens — you malefacthors and cruel persecuthors, that won't 
put your hands in your pockets, because your mild and quiet 
poor fool of a pasthor has no tongue in his head ! — I say your 
mild, quiet, poor fool of a pasthor, (for I know my own faults, 
partly, God forgive me!) and I can't spake to you as you 
deserve, you hard-living vagabones, that are as insensible to 
your duties as you are to the weather. I wish it was sugar or 
salt you were made of, and then the rain might melt you if I 
couldn't : but no — them naked rafthers grin in your face to no 
purpose — you chate the house of God ; but take care, maybe 
you won't cnate the divil so aisy '' — (here there was a sensa- 
tion). "Ha! ha! that makes you open your ears, does it? 
51 ore .shame for you ; you ought to despise that dirty enemy of 
man, and depend on something betther — but I see I must call 
you to a sense of your situation with the bottomless pit undher 
you, and no roof over you. Oh dear! dear! dear 1 — I'm 
ashamed of you — troth, if I had time and sthraw enough, I'd 
rather thatch the place myself than lose my time talking to 
you ; sure the place is more like a stable than a chapel. Oh, 
think of that ! — the house of God to be like a stable ! — for 
though our Redeemer, in his humility, was born in a stable, 
that is no reason why you are to keep his house always like one. 

" And now I will read you the list of subscribers, and it 
will make you ashamed when you hear the names of several 
trood and worthy Protestants in the parish, and out of it, too, 
who have given more than the Catholics." 

He then proceeded to read the following list, which he inter- 
larded copiously with observations of his own ; making viva 
voce marginal notes as it were upon the subscribers, which were 
not unfrequently answered by the persons so noticed, from the 
body of the chapel, and laughter was often the consequence of 
these rejoinders, which Father Phil never permitted to pass 
without a retort. Isor must all this be considered in the least 
irrevprent. A certain period is allowed between two particular 
portions of the ma s, when the prie.-t may address his congre- 
gation on any public matter : an approaching pattern, or fair, 
or the like - m which, exhortations to propriety of conduct, or 
warnings fcgainst faction lights, &c, are his themes. Then 
they only listen in reverence- But when a subscription for 



such an object as tnat already mentioned is under discussion, 
the flock consider themselves entitled to " put in a word" in 
case of necessity. 

This preliminary hint is given to the reader, that he lasv 
better enter into the spirit of Father Phil's 



£ s.d. 
Micky Hlcfey .076 

BI"y Riley 
John Dwyer 

3 4 

Peter ITeffernari 
James Murphy 
Slat Donovan 
Luke Dannely 
Jack Quigly 
Pat Finnegan 
Edward O'Con- 
nor, Esq. . . 

Philip Blake, P. P. 

" He might as well have made ten shil- 
lings : but half a loaf is betther than ne 

"Plase your reverence," says Mick from 
the body of the chapel, " sure seven and 
sixpence is more than the half of ten shil- 
lings." (A laugh.) 

" Oh ! how witty you are. Faith, if you 
Knew your duty as well as your arithmetic, 
it would be betther for you, Micky." 

Here the Father turned the laugh again? J 

" Of course he means to subscribe again." 

"That's something like! I'll be boun] 
he's only keeping back the odd five shil- 
lings for a brush full o' paint for the althar . 
it's as black as a crow, instead o' being & 
white as a dove." 

He then hurried over rapidly some smai- 
subscribers as follows :•— 

1 8 

2 6 

1 3 


2 I 

2 2 


"There's for you! Edward O'Connc:, 
Esq., a Protestant in the parish — Two 

" Long life to him," cried a voice in the 

"Amen," said Father Phil; "I'm not 
ashamed to be clerk to so (rood a prayer." 



Nlehplm F;<cH 
Y^unc Xlcholus 

£ t. 

Tta r>iyio 

Uwav Ivyle 

Simon I. en v 
bnd:,-tt >!i:r]>! 

7 6 

2 C 

zi* Mi-vI-iE 

"Young Nick is better than owld Nick, 
jon see.'' 

The congregation honoured the Father's 
demand on their risibility. 

""Well done, Owny na Coppa! — you de- 
serve to prosper, for you make good use of 
your thriving*.'' 

'' You ought to be ashamed o' yourself, 
Simon: alone widow woman 4 givea more 
than you." 

Simon answered, "I have a large family, 
sir, and she has no childhre." 

"That's not her fault," said the priest — 
"and may be she'll mend o' that yet." This 
excited much merriment, for the widow 
was buxom and had recently buried an old 
husband, and, by all accounts, was cocking 
her cap at a handsome young fellow in the 

" Very good, Judy ; the women are be- 
having like gentlemen ; they'll have their 
reward in the next world." 

'• I'm not sure if it is 8.9. 4<I. or 3s. 4c?., 
for tlie figure is blot led— but I believe it 
is 8s. 4c/."' 

" It was three and four pince Tgave your 
reverence," said Pat from the crowd. 

"Well, Pat, as 1 said eight and four pence 
you must not let me go back o' my word, 
so bring me five shillings next week. 

" Sure you wouldn't have me pay for a 
blot, sir?" 

"Yes, I would — that's the rule of back- 
mannon, you know, Pat. When I hit the 
blot, you pay for it." 

Here his reverence turned round, as if 
looking - >r some one, and called out, 
"Rutl'erty! Eaflerty ! Pailcrty! Where 
ere you, 1! after ty ? '' 

An old grey-headed man appeared 
bearing a large plate, and Father Phil ( '>, 
turned — 

'• There now, be active — I'm : ending L i 
among you, good people, and such as can- 


* e 4 - not give as much as you would like to be 
read before your neighbours, give what 
little you can towards the repairs, and I 
will continue to read out the names by way 
of encouragement to you, and the next 
name I see is that of Squire Egan. Lon;< 
life to him ! 

squire f:gan 800 « Squire Egan— five pounds— listen to 
(hat — five pounds — a Protestant in the 
parish — five pounds! Faith, the Protes- 
tants will make you ashamed of yourselves, 
if you don't, take care, 

"micf jjiiiTan 2 ° ° " Mother own parish, either— a kindladv. 
'of' "Round?'*" " And nere I must remark that the 

town IOC people of Roundtown have not been back- 

ward in coming forward on this occasion. I 
have along list from Roundtown — I will read 
it separate." He then proceeded at a great 
pace, jumbling the town and the pounds and 
the people in a most extraordinary manner: 
"James Milligan of Roundtown, one pounU; 
Darby Daly of Roundtown, one pound; 
Sam Finnigan of Roundtown, one pound; 
James Casey of Roundpound, one town ; 
Kit Dwyer of Town pound, one round — 
pound I mane ; Pat Roundpound — Pounden, 
I mane — Pat Pounden a pound of Pound- 
town also — There's an example for you ! — 
but what are you about, Rafferty ? I don't 
like the sound of that plate of yours; — you 
are not a good gleaner — go up first into the 
gallery there, where I see so many good- 
looking bonnets — I suppose they will give 
something to keep their bonnets out of the 
rain, for the wet will be into the gallery 
next Sunday if they don't. I think that is 
Kitty Crow I see, getting her bit of silver 
ready ; them ribbons of yours cost a trifle, 
Kitty. Well, good Christians, here is more 
of the subscription for you. 

ttaitiicir :.=-.• -r\ c ■_> 3 "He doesn't belong to Roundtown — 
Roundtown will be renowned in future 
ages for the support of the Church. Mark 
my words — Roundtown will prosper from 
this day out — Roundtown will be a rising 


£ • d. "One would think they nil agreed only 
,,. i-i.,.,.,. 'o36 ,0 P 1VC * wo :ln( l sixpence a ]>ieee. And 
iiii Uoi'in'i as they comfortable men, too ! And look ;it. 
their names — Matthew, Mark, Luke, and 
John, the names of the lilessed Evangelists, 
and only ten shillings anion^ them! Oh, 
they are apostles not worthy of the name — - 
we'll call them the 1'itor A pontics from this 
out," (here a low laugh ran through the 
chapel) — "Do you hear that, Matthew, 
Mark, Luke, and John? Faith! I can, 
tell you that name will stick to you." 
(Here the laugh was louder.) 

A voice, when the laugh subsided, ex- 
claimed, "I'll make it ten shillin's, your 

" Who's that?" said Father Phil. 
" Ilennessv, your reverence." 
'• Very well, Mark. I suppose Matthew, 
Luke, and John, will follow your ex- 
ample ?" 

"We will, your reverence." 
"Ah! I thought you made a mistake; 
we'll call you now the Faithful Apostles— 
and I think the change in the name is 
betther than seven and sixpence a piece to 

" I see you in the gallery there, RafFerty 
What do you pass that well dressed woman 
for? — thry back — ha! — see that — she had 
her money ready if you only asked for it 
— don't go by that other woman there — oh, 
oh! — So you won't give anything, ma'am. 
You ought to be ashamed of yourself. 
There is a woman with an elegant sthraw 
bonnet and she won't give a farthing. Well 
now — afther that — remember — I give it 
from the althar, that from this day out 
sthrwr bonnets pay fi penny pieces. 
in~ts !'u:fy, ''It's not his parish and he's a brave gen> 

r <>- ' 00 tlcman. 

!-ii'iiuyD«. ".I Protestant out of the jun-ish, and a 

*° u ' 00 sweet \oii!,g lady, God bless her! On 

laith. (I." l'rotcstants is shaming you!!! 
M.n:< . o 7 c "Very good indeed, for a working ma- 



£ *. d. « Not had, f or a hedge casrpenther." 
Jemmy Mey 9 60 " I gave you ten plaze your reverence," 
shouted Jemmy, 'and by the same token, 
you may remember it was on the Nativity of 
the Blessed Vargin, sir, I gave you the 
second five shillin's." 

" So you did, Jemmy," cried Father Phil 
— " I put a little cross before it, to remind 
me of it ; but I was in a hurry to make a 
sick call when you gave it to me, and forgot 
it afther : and indeed myself doesn't know 
what I did with that same five shillings." 

Here a pallid woman, who was kneeling 
near the rails of the altar, uttered an 
impassioned blessing, and exclaimed, "Oh, 
that was the very five shillings, I'm sure, 
you gave to me that very day, to buy 
some little comforts for my poor husband, 
who was dying in the fever!" — and the poor 
women burst into loud sobs as she spoke. 
A deep thrill of emotion ran through the flock as this acci- 
dental proof of their poor pastor's beneficence burst upon 
them; and as an affectionate murmur began to rise above the 
silence which that emotion produced, the burly Father Philip 
blushed like a girl at this publication of his charity, and even 
at the foot of that altar where lie stood, felt something like 
shame in being discovered in the commission of that virtue so 
highly commended by the Holy One to whose worship the 
altar was raised. He uttered a hasty "Whisht — whisht!" and 
waved with his outstretched hands his flock into silence. 

In an instant one of those sudden changes common to an 
Irish assembly, and scarcely credible to a stranger, took place. 
The multitude was hushed — the grotesque of the subscription 
list had passed away and was forgotten, and that same man 
and that same multitude stood in altered relations — they were 
again a reverent flock, and he once more a solemn pastor ; the 
natural play of his nation's mirthful sarcasm was absorbed in 
a moment in the sacredness of his office; and with a solemnity 
befitting the highest occasion, he placed his hands together 
before his breast, and raising his eyes to heaven he poured forth 
his sweet voice, with a tone of the deepest devotion, in thai 
reverential call to prayer, " Orate, fratres." 

The sound of a multitude gently kneeling down followed, 
like the soft breaking of a quiet sea on a sandy beach; and 
when Father Philip turned to the altar to pray, his pent- 
up feel ngs found vent in tear" and while he prayed, he wept. 

HANDY ANi>r 270 

I believe such scenes as this are not of unfreqtent occur- 
rence in Ireland ; that country so long suffering, ao much 
maligned, and so little understood. 

Suppose the foregoing scene to have been only described 
antecedent to the woman in the outbreak of her gratitude re- 
vealing the priest's charity, from which he recoiled, — suppose 
the mirthfulness of the incidents arising from reading the sub- 
scription list — a mirthfulness bordering on the ludicrous, — 
to have been recorded, and nothing more, a stranger would be 
inclined to believe, and pardonable in the belief, that the Irish 
and their priesthood were rather prone to be irreverent ; but 
observe, under this exterior, the deep sources of feeling that 
lie hidden and wait but the wand of divination to be revealed. 
In a thousand similar ways are the actions and the motives of 
the Irish understood by those who are careless of them : or 
worse, misrepresented by those whose interest, and too often 
business, it is to malign them. 

Father Phil could proceed no further with the reading of 
the subscription-list, but finished the office of the mass with 
unusual solemnity. Rut if the incident just recorded abridged 
his address, and the publication of donors' names by way of 
stimulus to the less active, it produced a great effect on those 
who had but smaller donations to drop into the plate; and the 
grey-headed collector, who could have numbered the scanty 
coin before the bereaved widow had revealed the pastor's 
charity, had to struggle his way afterwards through the eagerly 
out-stretched hands that showered their hard-earned pence 
upon the plate, which was borne back to the altar heaped with 
contributions, heaped as it had not been seen for many a day. 
The studied excitement of their pride and their shame — and 
r.oth are active agents in the Irish nature — was less successful 
than the accidental a; peal to their affections. 

Oh ! rulers of Ireland, why have you not sooner learned to 
!• ml that people by love, whom all your severity has been un- 
able to drive?* 

When the mass was over Andy waited at the door of the 
chapel to catch "his Riverence" coming out, and obtain his 
advice about what he overheard from Larry Hogan; and 
Father Phil was accordingly accosted by Andy just as he was 
roing to get into his saddle to ride over to breakfast with one 
of the neighbouring farmers, who was holding the priest's 
stirrup at the moment. The extreme urgency of Andy's 

• 'WTicn this passage was written Ireland was disturbed (as she has 
tiv> often been) liv special parliamentary provocation: — the vexatious 
vigilance of legislative lynxes— the peevishness of paltry persecutors. 


manner, as he pressed up to the pastor's side, made tlic lnUci 
pause and inquire what he wanted. 

"I want to get some advice from your riverence," said Andy. 

"Faith, then, the advice I give you, is never to stop a 
hungry man when he is going to refresh himself," said Father 
Phil, who had quite recovered his usual cheerfulness, and 
threw his leg over his little grey hack as he spoke. "How 
could you be so unreasonable as to expect me to stop here 
listening to your case, and giving you advice indeed, when I 
have said three masses* this morning, and rode three miles; 
how could you be so unreasonable, I say?" 

"lax your riverence's pardon,'' said Andy; "I wouldn't 
have taken the liberty, only the thing is mighty particular 

"Well, I tell you again, never ask a hungry man advice; 
for he is likely to cut his advice on the patthern of his 
stomach, and its empty advice you'll get. Did you never 
hear that a 'hungry stomach has no ears?''' 

The farmer who was to have the honour of the priest's 
company to breakfast exhibited rather more impatience than 
the good-humoured Father Phil, and reproved Andy for his 

"'But it's so particular," said Andy. 

" I wondher you would dar' to stop his riverence, and he 
black fastin' Go 'long wid you ! " 

"Come over to my house in the course of the week, and 
speak to me,'' said Father Phil, riding away. 

Andy still persevered, and taking advantage of the absence 
of the farmer, who was mounting his own nag at the moment, 
said, the matter of which he wished to speak involved the 
interests of Squire Egan, or he would not " make so bowld." 

This altered the matter ; and Father Phil desired Andy to 
follow him to the farm-house of John Dwyer, where he would 
speak to him after he had breakfasted. 

Tli ; efar? of the mass must be performed fasi°.r.;j. 



John Dwyer's house was a scene of activity that day, for 
not only was the priest to breakfast there — always an affair of 
Honour, but a grand dinner also was preparing on alarge scale; 
for a wedding-feast was to be held in the house, in honour of 
Matty Dwyer's nuptials, which were to be celebrated that day 
with a neighbouring young farmer, rather well to do in the 
world. The match had been on-and-off for some time, for 
John Dwyer, was what is commonly called a "close-fisted- 
fellow," and his would-be son-in-law could not bring him to 
what he considered proper terms, and though Matty liked 
young Casey, and he was fond of her, they both agreed not to 
let old .Lick Dwyer have the best of the bargain in portion- 
ing oil' his daughter, who, having a spice of her father in her, 
was just as fond of number one as old Jack himself. And here 
it is worthy of remark, that, though the Irish are so prone in 
general to early and improvident marriages, no people are closer 
in their nuptial barter, when they are in a condition to make 
marriage a profitable contract. Repeated meetings between 
the elders of families take place, and acute arguments ensue, 
properly to equalise the worldly goods to be given on both 
sides. Pots and pans are balanced against pails and churns, 
cows against horses, a slip of bog against a gravel-pit, or 
a patch of meadow against a bit of a quarry ; a little lime-kiln 
sometimes burns stronger than the flame of Cupid — the doves 
of Venus herself are but crows in comparison with a good flock 
of geese — and a love-sick sigh less touching than the healthy 
grunt of a good pig; indeed, the last-named gentleman is a 
most useful agent in this traffic, for when matters are nearly 
poised, the balance is often adjusted by a grunter or two 
thrown into either scale. While matters are thus in a state of 
debate, quarrels sometimes occur between the lovers; the gen * 
tlemun's caution sometimes takes alarm, and more frequently 
the lady's pride is aroused at the too obvious preference given 
to worldly gain over heavenly beauty; Cupid shies at Mammon, 
and Hymen is up.-et and left in the mire. 

I remember hearing of an instance of this nature, when the 
lady gave her ci-ilerant lover an ingenious reproof, after 
thev had been separated some time, when a marriage-bargain 
was broken off, because the lover could not obtain from the 
girl's father a certain brown filly as part of her dowry. The 



damsel after the lapse of some weeks, met her swain at a neigh- 
bouring fair, and the flame of love still smouldering in his heart 
was re-illumined by the sight of his charmer, who, on the 
contrary, had become quite disgusted with him for his too 
obvious preference of profit to true affection. He addressed 
her softly in a tent and asked her to dance, but was most 
astonished at her returning him a look of vacant wonder, which 
tacitly implied " Who are you?" as plain as looks could speak. 

" Arrah, Mary," exclaimed the youth. 

" Sir ! ! \" answered Mary, with what heroines call "in- 

efffible disdain." 

" Why one would think you didn't know me !" 

"If I ever had the honour of your acquaintance, sir," 
answered Mary, " I forget you entirely." 

"Forget me, Mary? — arrah be aisy — is it forget the man 
that was courtin' and in love with you ?" 

" You're under a mistake, young man," said Mary, with a 
curl of her rosy lip, which displayed the pearly teeth to whose 
beauty her woman's nature rejoiced that the recreant lover wa9 
yet insensible — "You're under a mistake young man," and her 
heightened colour made her eye flash more brightly as she spoke 
— " you're quite under a mistake — no one was ever in love 
v/ith me ;" and she laid signal emphasis on the word. " There 
was a dirty mane blackguard, indeed, once in love with my 
father's brown filly, but I forget him intirely." 

Mary tossed her head proudly as she spoke, and her filly- 
fancying '• admirer, reeling under the reproof she inflicted, 
sneaked from the tent, while Mary stood up and danced with a 
more open-hearted lover, whose earnest eye could see mora 
charms in one lovely woman than in all the horses of Arabia. 

But no such result as this was likely to take place in Matty 
Dwyer's case; she and her lover agreed with one another on 
the settlement to be made, and old Jack was not to be allowed 
an inch over what was considered an even bargain. At length 
all matters were agreed upon, the wedding-day fixed, and the 
guests invited; yet still both parties were not satisfied, but 
young Casey thought he should be put into absolute possession 
of a certain little farm and cottage, and have the lease looked 
over to see all was right (for Jack Dwyer was considered rather 
(slippery), while old Jack thought it time enough to give him 
possession and the lease and his daughter altogether. 

However, matters had gone so far, that, as the reader has 
seen, the wedding-feast was prepared, the guests invited, and 
Father Phil on the spot to help James and Matty (in the face- 
tious parlance of Paddy) to "tie with their tongues what 
&&y could not undo with their teeth." 


When the priest had done breakfast the arrrwa of Andy was 
announced to him, and Andy was admitted to a private audience 
with Father Phil, the particulars of which must not be dis- 
closed; for, in short, Andvmade a regular confession before the 
Father, and, we know, confessions must be held sacred ; but we 
may say, that Andy confided the whole post-office affair to the 
pastor — told him how Larry Hogan had contrived to worm that 
affair out of him, and by his devilish artifice had, as Andy feared, 
contrived to implicate Squire Egan in the transaction, and by 
threatening a disclosure, got the worthy squire into his villanous 
power. Andy, under the solemn queries of the priest, positively 
denied having said one word to Hogan to criminate the squire, 
and that Hogan could only inferthc squire's guilt ; uponwhich 
Father Phil, having perfectly satisfied himself, toldAndy to make 
his mindeasy, for that he would secure the squire from any harm, 
and he moreover praised Andy for the fidelity he displayed to 
the interests of his old master, and declared he was so pleased 
with him, that he would desire JackDwyerto ask him to dinner. 
"And that will be no blind nut, let me tell you," said Father 
Phil — "a wedding dinner, you lucky dog — 'lashings* and 
laving?,' and no end of dancing afther !" 

Andy was accordingly bidden to the bridal feast, to which 
the guests began already to gather thick and fast. They 
strolled about the field before the house, basked in groups in 
the sunshine, or lay in the shade under the hedges, where 
hints of future marriages were given to many a pretty girl, 
and to nudges and pinches were returned small screams sug- 
gestive of additional assault — and inviting denials of " Indeed I 
won't," and that crowning provocative to riotous conduct, 
" Behave yourself." 

In the meantime, the barn was laid out with long planks, 
supported on barrels or big stones, which planks, when 
covered with clean cloths, made a goodly board, that soon be- 
gan to be covered with ample wooden dishes of corned beef, 
roasted geese, boiled chickens and bacon, and intermediate 
stacks of cabbage and huge bowls of potatoes, all sending up 
their wreaths of smoke to the rafters of the barn, soon to be- 
come hotter from the crowd of guests, who, when the word 
was given, rushed to the onslaught with right good will. 

The dinner was later than the hour named, and the delay 
arose from the absence of one who, of all others, ought to 
have been present, namely, the bridegroom. But James Casey 
was missing, and Jack Dwyer had been closeted from time to 
time with several long-headed greybeards, canvassing the 

* Overflowing abundance, and plenty left after. 

280 HANDY AND?. 

occurrence, and wondering at the default on the bridegroom'i 
part. The person who might have been supposed to bear this 
default the worst, supported it better than any one. Matty 
was all life and spirits, and helped in making the feast ready, 
fis if nothing wrong had happened, and she backed Father 
Phil's argument to sit down to dinner at once; — "that if 
James Casey was not there, that was no reason dinner should 
be spoiled, he'd be there soon enough ; besides, if he didn't 
arrive in time, it was better he should have good meat cold, 
than everybody have hot meat spoiled : the ducks would be 
done to cindhers, the beef boiled to rags, and the chickens be 
all in jommethry." 

So down they sat to dinner : its heat, its mirth, its clatter, 
and its good cheer we will not attempt to describe ; suffice it 
to say, the viands were good, the guests hungry, and the drink 
unexceptionable; and Father Phil, no bad judge of such mat- 
ters, declared he never pronounced grace over a better spread. 
But still, in the midst of the good cheer, neighbours (the wo- 
men particularly) would suggest to each other the "wondher" 
where the bridegroom could be ; and even within ear-shot of 
the bride elect, the low-voiced whisper ran, of " Where in the 
world is James Casey ?" 

Still the bride kept up her smiles, and cheerfully returned 
the healths that were drunk to her ; but old Jack was not un- 
moved : a cloud hung on his brow, which grew darker and 
darker, as the hour advanced, and the bridegroom yet tarried. 
The board was cleared of the eatables, and the copious jugs of 
punch going their round, but the usual toast of the united 
healths of the happy pair could not be given, for one of them 
was absent. Father Phil hardly knew what to do ; for even 
his overflowing cheerfulness began to forsake him, and a 
certain air of embarrassment began to pervade the whola 
assembly, till Jack Dwyer could bear it no longer, and stand- 
ing up, he thus addressed the company : — 

" Friends and neighbours, you see the disgrace that's put 
on me and my child." 

A murmur of " No, no !" ran round the board. 

"I say, yis." 

" He'll come yet, sir," said a voice. 

" No, he won't," said Jack, " I see he won't — I know he 
woivt. He wanted to have everything all his own way, and he 
thinks to disgrace me in doing what he likes, but he shan't ;" 
and he struck the table fiercely as he spoke ; for Jack, when 
once his blood was up, was a man of desperate determination. 
" He's a greedy chap, the same James Casey, and he loves his 
bargain betther than he loves you, Matty, so don't look glum 


about what I'm saving : I say lie's greedy : lie's just i!ie fellow 
that it' vim gave him the roof off your house, would ax you 
for the rails before your door; and lie goes baek of his bargain 
now, bekasc 1 would not let him have it all his own way, ami 
puts the disgrace on me, thinkin' I'll give in to him, through 
that .-amc, but 1 won't. And 1 tell you what it is, friends and 
neighbours; here's the lease of the three-cornered field below 
there," and he held up a parchment as he spoke, " and a snug 
cottage on it, and its all ready for the girl to walk into with 
the man that will have her; and if there's a man among you 
here that's willing, let him say the word now, and I'll give her 
to him !" 

The girl could not resist an exclamation of surprise, which 
her father hushed by a word and look so peremptory, that she 
saw remonstrance was in vain, and a silence of some momenta 
ensued ; for it was rather startling, this immediate offer of a 
girl who had been so strangely slighted, and the men were not 
quite prepared to make advances, until they knew something 
more of the why and wherefore of her sweetheart's desertion. 

"Are yiz all dumb?'' exclaimed Jack, in surprise. "Faix, 
it's not every day a snug little field and cottage, and a good- 
looking girl falls in a man's way. I say again, I'll give her and 
the lase to the man that will say the word." 

Still no one spoke, and Andy began to think they were 
Dsing Jack Dwyer and his daughter very ill, but what business 
had he to think of offering himself, " a poor devil like him ?" 
But the silence still continuing, Andy took heart of grace ; 
and as the profit and pleasure of a snug match and a handsome 
wife flashed upon him, he got up and said, " Would I do, sir?" 

Every one was taken by surprise, even old Jack himself 
and Matty could not suppress a faint exclamation, which 
every one but Andy understood to mean " she didn't like it at 
all ;" but which Andy interpreted quite the other way, and he 
grinned his loutish admiration of Matty, who turned away her 
head from him in sheer distaste, which action Andy took for 
mere coyness. 

Jack was in a dilemma, for Andy was just the last man he 
would have chosen as a husband for his daughter; but what 
could he do ? he was taken at his word, and even at the worst 
he was determined that some one should marry the girl out of 
hand, and show Casey the " disgrace should not be put on him;" 
but anxious to have another chance, he stammered something 
about the fairness of li letting the girl choose," and that " some 
one else mightwish to spake;" but the end of all was, that no 
one rose to rival Andy, and Father Phil bore witness to the 
satisfaction he had that day in finding so much upiightnost 


and fidelity in " tne boy," that lie had raised his character 
much in his estimation by his conduct that day ; and if he was 
a little giddy betimes, there was nothing like a wife to steady 
him ; and if he was rather poor, sure Jack Dwyer could mend 

" Then come up here," says Jack ; and Andy left his place 
at the very end of the board and marched up to the head, 
amidst clapping of hands and thumping of the table, and 
laughing and shouting. 

" Silence ! " cried Father Phil, "this is no laughing matther, 
but a serious engagement — and, John Dwyer, I tell you — and 
you Andy Rooney, that girl must not be married against her 
own free-will; but if she has no objection well and good." 

" My will is her pleasure, I know," said Jack, resolutely. 

To the surprise of every one, Matty said, " Oh, I'll take 
the boy with all my heart ! " 

Handy Andy threw his arms round her neck and gave her 
a most vigorous salute which came smacking off, and thereupon 
arose a hilarious shout which made the old rafters of the barn 
ring again. 

" There's the lase for you," said Jack, handing the parch- 
ment to Andy, who was now installed in the place of honour 
beside the bride elect at the head of the table, and the punch 
circulated rapidly in filling to the double toast of health, hap- 
piness and prosperity to the " happy pair ;" and after some few 
more circuits of the enlivening liquor had been performed, the 
women retired to the dwelling-house, whose sanded parlour 
was put in immediate readiness for the celebration of the nup- 
tial knot between Matty and the adventurous Andy. 

In half an hour the ceremony was performed, and the rites 
and blessings of the Church dispensed between two people, who, 
an hour before, had never looked on each other with thoughts 
of matrimony. 

Under such circumstances it was wonderful with what 
lightness of spirit Matty went through the honours consequent 
on a peasant bridal in Ireland : these, it is needless to detail j 
our limits would not permit ; but suffice it to say, that a rat- 
tling country-dance was led off by Andy and Matty in the 
barn, intermediate jigs were indulged in by the "picked 
dancers" of the parish, while the country dancers were resting 
and making love (if making love can be called rest) in the 
corners, and that the pipers and jiunch-makers had quite 
enough to do until the night was far spent, and it was considered 
time for the bride and bridegroom to be escorted by a chosen 
party of friends to the little cottage which was to be their 
i'aiure ho>?"i. ^he pipers stood at the threshold of Jack Dwyer, 


end his daughter departed from under the " roof-tree" to tho 
tune of '' Joy be with you;" and then the lilters, heading the 
body-guard of the bride, plied drone and chanter right merrily 
■intil she had entered her new home, thanked her old friends 
(who did all the established civilities, and cracked all the usual 
jokes attendant on the occasion), and Andy bolted the door of 
the snug cottage of which he had so suddenly become master, 
and placed a seat for the bride beside the fire, requesting 
" Miss Dirycr" to sit down — for Andy could not bring himself 
to call her " Matty" yet — and found himself in an awkward 
position in being '' lord and master " of a girl he considered so 
far above him a few hours before; Matty sat quiet, and looked 
at the fire. 

" It's very quare, isn't it ?" says Andy with a grin, looking 
at her tenderly, and twiddling his thumbs. 

"What's quare r" inquired Matty, very drily. 

" The estate," responded Andy. 

" What estate ?" asked Matty. 

" Your estate and my estate," said Andy. 

"Sure you don't call the three-cornered field my father 
gave us an estate, you fool ?" answered Matty. 

" Oh no," said Andy. " I mane the blessed and holy estate 
of matrimony the priest put us in possession of;" and Andy 
drew a stool near the heiress, on the strength of the hit he 
thought he had made. 

" Sit at the other side of the fire," said Matty, very 

" Yes, Miss," responded Andy, very respectfully ; and in 
shoving his seat backwards the legs of the stool caught in the 
earthen floor and Andy tumbled heels over head. 

Matty laughed while Andy was picking himself up with 
increased confusion at this mishap ; for even amidst rustics 
there is nothing more humiliating than a lover placing himself 
in a ridiculous position at the moment he is doing his best to 
make himself agreeable. 

" It is well your coat's not new," said Matty, with a con- 
temptuous look at Andy's weather-beaten vestment. 

"I hope I'll soon have a betther," said Andy, a little 

Eiqued, with all his reverence for the heiress, at this allusion to 
is poverty. " But sure, it wasn't the coat you married but 
the man that's in it ; and sure I'll take oif my clothes as soon 
as you please, Matty my dear — Miss Dwyer, I mane — I beg 
your pardon." 

" You had better wait till you get better," answered Matty, 
very drily. " You know the old saying, ' Don't throw out your 
dirtv wather until you get in fresh.' " 



"Ah, darlin', don't be cruel to me!" said Andy, in a sup- 
plicating tone. " I know I'm not desarvin' of you, but sure I 
did not make so bowld as to make up to you until I seen that 
nobody else would have you." 

" Nobody else have me !" exclaimed Matty, as her eyes 
flashed with anger. 

" I beg your pardon, Miss," said poor Andy, who in the 
extremity of his own humility had committed such an offence 
against Matty's pride. " I only meant that — " 

" Say no more about it," said Matty, who recovered her 
equanimity. " Didn't my father give you the lase of the field 
and house ?" 

"Yis, Miss." 

" You had better let me keep it, then ; 'twill be safer with 
me than you." 

" Sartainly," said Andy — who drew the lease from his 
pocket and handed it to her, and — as he was near to her — lie 
attempted a little familiarity, which Matty repelled very un- 

" Arrah ! is it jokes you are crackin' ?" said Andy, with a 
grin, advancing to renew his fondling. 

"I tell you what it is," said Matty, jumping up, "I'll 
crack your head if you don't behave yourself!'' and she seized 
the stool on which she had been sitting, and brandished it in a 
very Amazonian fashion. 

" Oh, wirra! wirra !" said Andy, in amaze — "aren't you 
my wife ?" 

" Your wife !" retorted Matty, with a very devil in her 
eye — " Your wife, indeed, you great omadhaun ; why then, had 
you the brass to think I'd put up with youf" 

" Arrah, then, why did you marry me ?" said Andy, in a 
pitiful argumentative whine. 

" Why did I marry you ?" retorted Matty — " Didn't I know 
betther than refuse you, when my father said the word when 
the Divil was busy with him? Why did I marry you? — it's a 
pity I didn't refuse, and be murthered that night, may be, as 
soon as the people's backs was turned. Oh, it's little you know 
of owld Jack Dwyer, or you wouldn't ask me that; but though 
I'm afraid of him, I'm not afraid of you — so stand off I tell 

" Oh, Blessed Virgin !" cried Andy ; " and what will be the 
end of it?" 

There was a tapping at the door as he spoke. 

" You'll soon see what will be the end of it," said Matty, as 
she walked across the cabin and opened to the knock. 

James Casey entered and clasped Matty in his arms ; <u)d 

IIAM1Y AN'Df. 4 285 

half a dozen athletic fellows and one old and dcbauched-Iooking 
man followed, and the door was immediately closed after their 

Andy stood in amazement while Casey and Matty caressed 
eaeli other; and the old man said in a voice tremulous with in- 
toxication, " A very pretty filly, by jingo!" 

"I lor-t no time the minute 1 not your message, Matty," 
said Casey, "and here's the Father ready to join us." 

"Av, av," cackled the old reprobate — "hammer and 
tongs ! — strike while the iron's hot! — I'm the boy for a short 
job ;" and he pulled a greasy book from his pocket as he 

This was a degraded clergyman, known in Ireland under 
the title of " Couple Beggar," who is ready to perform irregu- 
lar marriages on such urgent occasions as the present; and 
Matty had contrived to inform James Casey of the desperale 
turn affairs had taken at home, and recommended him to adopt 
the present plan, and so defeat the violent measure of her 
father by one still more so. 

A scene of uproar now ensued, for Andy did not take matters 
quietly, butmade a pretty considerable row, which was speedily 
quelled, however, by Casey's body-guard, who tied Andy neck 
and heels, and in that helpless state he witnessed the marriagt 
ceremony performed by the " Couple Beggar," between Casey 
and the girl he had looked upon as his own live minutes before. 

In vain did he raise his voice against the proceeding; 
the " Couple Beggar" smothered his objections in ribald 

•' You can't take her from me, I tell you," cried Andy. 

* - Xo; but we can take you from her," said the 
"Couple Beggar;" and, at the words, Casey's friends dragged 
Andy from the cottage, bidding a rollicking adieu to their 
triumphant companion, who bolted the door after them and 
became posses- or of the wife and property poor Andy thought 
he had secured. 

To guard against an immediate alarm being given, Andy 
was wained on pain of death to be silent as his captors bore 
him along, and he took them to be too much men of their 
word to doubt they would keep their promise. They bore him 
through a lonely by-lane for some time, and on arriving at 
the stump of an old tree, bound him securely to it, and leit 
him to pass his wedding-night in the tight embraces of hemp. 




The news of Andy's wedding, so strange in itself, and being 
celebrated before so many, spread over the country like wild, 
fire, and made the talk of half the barony for the next day, ana 
the question, " Arrcih, did you hear of the wondherful wed 
ding?" was asked in high-road and by-road, and scarcely 3 
borecn whose hedges had not borne witness to this startling ma 
trimonial intelligence. The story, like all other stories, or 
course got twisted into various strange shapes, and fanciful 
exaggerations became grafted on the original stem, sufficiently 
grotesque in itself ; and one of the versions set forth how old 
Jack Dwyer, the more to vex Casey, had given his daughter 
the greatest fortune that ever had been heard of in the county. 

Now one of the open-eared people who had caught hold of 
the story by this end happened to meet Andy's mother, and 
with a congratulatory grin, began with " The top 0' the mor- 
nin'toyou, Mrs. Rooney, and sure I wish you joy." 

"Och hone, and for why, dear?" answered Mrs. Rooney, 
"sure it's nothin' but trouble and care I have, poor and in 
want, like me." 

"But sure you'll never be in want any more.'-' 

" Arrah, who towld you so, agra?" 

"Sure the boy will take care of you now, won't heP" 

"What boy?'" 

" Andy, sure ! " 

"Andy !" replied his mother, in amazement. "Andy, in- 
deed! — out 0' place, and without a bawbee to bless himself 
With ! — stayin' out all night, the blackguard ! " 

" By this and that, I don't think you know a word about 
it," cried the friend, whose turn it was for wonder now. 

" Don't I, indeed 1 " said Mrs. Rooney, huffed at having her 
word doubted, as she thought. " I tell you he never was at 
home last night, and may be it's yourself was helping him, 
Micky Lavery, to keep his bad coorses — the slingein' dirty 
blackguard that he is." 

Micky Lavery set up a shout of laughter, which increased 
the ire of Mrs. Rooney, who would have passed on in dignified 
silence but that Mickey held her fast, and when he recovered 
breath enough to speak, he proceeded to tell her about Andy's 
marriage, but in such a disjointed way, that it was some time 
before Mrs. Rooney oould comprehend him — for bis interject- 

IT.\N!>Y ANDT. 287 

tional laughter at the capital johe it was, that sne should be the 
last to know it, and that he should have the luck to tell it, 
t-ometimes broke the thread of his story — and then his collateral 
observations so disfigured the talc, that its incomprehensibility 
became very much increased, until at last Mrs. Itooney wii.s 
driven to push him by direct questions. 

" For the tendher mercy, Micky Lavery, make me sinsiblc 
and don't disthratt me — is the boy marri'd V 

" Vis, I tell you." 

"To Jack Dwyer's daughter?-" 

" Yis." 

"And gev him a fort'n'P" 

" (lev him half his property, I tell you, and he'll have al! 
when the owld man's dead." 

"Oh, more power to you, Andy !" cried his mother in de- 
light ; " it's you that is the boy, and the best child that ever 
was! Half his property, you tell me, Mislher Lavery?" added 
she getting distant and polite the moment she found herself 
mother to a rich man, and curtailing her familiarity with a 
poor one like Lavery 

"Yes, via? am, said Lavery, touching his hat, "and the 
whole of it when the owld man dies." 

" Then indeed I wish him a happy relase ! " * said Mrs. Itoo-- 
ney, piously — " not that I owe the man any spite — bat sure he'd 
be no loss — and its a good wish to any one, sure, to wish them 
in heaven. Good mornin', Misther Lavery," said Mrs. ltooney, 
with a patronising smile, and "going the road with a dignified 

Mick Lavery looked after her with mingled wonder and 
indignation. "Bad luck to you, you owld sthrap !" he mut- 
tered between his teeth. " How consaited you are, all of a 
sudden — by Jakers, I'm sorry I towld you— cock you up, indeed 
— put a beggar on horseback to be sure — humph! — the devil 
cut the tongue out o' me if ever I give any one good news 
again. I've a mind to turn back and tell Tim Doolinghis horse 
is in the pound." 

Mrs. Rooney continued her dignified pace as long as she wad 
in sight of Lavery, but the moment an angle of the road screened 
her from his observation, off she set, running as hard as she 
could, to embrace her darling Andy, and realise with her own 
( yt-s- and ears all the good news she had heard. She puffed out 
t/y the way many set phrases about the goodness of Providence, 
p.nd arranged at the same time sundry fine speeches to make to 
the bride ; so that the old lady's piety and flattery ran a strange 

" A " happy release" is the Irish phrase for departing this lif». 


couple together along with herself ; while mixed up with her 
prayers and her blarney, were certain speculations about Jack 
Dwyer — as to how long he could live — and how much he might 

It was in this frame of mind she reached the hill which 
commanded a view of the three-cornered field and the snug 
cottage, and down she rushed to embrace her darling Andy and 
his gentle bride. Puffing and blowing like a porpoise, bang she 
went into the cottage, and Matty being the first person she 
met, she flung herself upon her, and covered her with embraces 
and blessings. 

Matty being taken by surprise was some time before she 
could shake off the old beldame's hateful caresses ; but at last 
getting free and tucking up her hair, which her imaginary 
mother-in-law had clawed about her ears, she exclaimed in no 
very gentle tones — 

" Arrah, good woman, who axed for your company — who 
are you at all ?" 

" Your mother-in-law, jewel ! " cried the Widow Rooney, 
making another open-armed rush at her beloved daughter-in- 
law ; but Matty received the widow's protruding mouth on 
her clenched fist instead of her lips, and the old woman's nose 
coming in for a share of Matty's knuckles, a ruby stream 
spurted forth, while all the colours of the rainbow danced be- 
fore Mrs. Rooney's eyes as she reeled backward on the floor. 

"Take that, you owld faggot!" cried Matty, as she shook 
Mrs. Rooney's tributary claret from the knuckles which had 
so scientifically tapped it, and wiped her hand in her apron. 

The old woman roared " millia' murthur" on the floor, and 
snuffled out a deprecatory question " if that was the proper 
way to be received in her son's house." 

" Your son's house, indeed !" cried Matty, " Get out o' 
the place, you stack o' rags." 

" Oh Andy ! Andy !" cried the mother, gathering herself 

" Oh— that's it, is it!" cried Matty; "so it's Andy yon 
want ?" 

" To be sure : why wouldn't I want him, you hussy ? My 
boy ! my darlin' ! my beauty !" 

" Well, go look for him V cried Matty, giving her a shove 
towards the door. 

" Well, now, do you think I'll be turned out of my son's 
house so quietly as that, you unnatural baggage ?" cried Mrs. 
Rooney, facing round, fiercely. Upon which a bitter alterca- 
tion ensued between the women ; in the course of which the 
widow soon learnt that Andy was not the possessor of Matty'l 

HANDY /\NDi. 2£9 

charms: whereupon the old woman, no longer having- the fear of 
damaging her daughter-in-law's beauty before her eves, tackled 
to for a tight in right eainest,in the course of which some reprisals 
were made by the widow in revenge for her broken nose; but 
Matty's youth andactivity, joined to her Amazonian spirit, turned 
the tidein her favour, though, had not the old lad y been blown by 
her long run, the victory would not have been so easy, for she 
was a tough customer, and left Matty certain marks of her 
favour that did not rub out in a hurry — while she took away (as 
a keepsake) a handful of Matty's hair, by which she had long 
held on till a successful kick from the gentle bride finally 
ejected Mrs. Rooney trom the house. 

Off she reeled, bleeding and roaring, and while on her 
approach she had been blessing Heaven and inventing sweet 
speeches for Matty, on her retreat she was cursing fate and 
heaping all sorts of hard names on the Amazon she came to 
flatter. Alas, for the brevity of human exultation ! 

How fared it in the meantime with Andy ? He, poor devil! 
had passed acold night, tied up to the old tree, and as the morning 
dawned every object appeared to him through the dim light 
in a distorted form ; the gaping hollow of the old trunk to 
which he was bound seemed like a huge mouth, opening to 
swallow him, while the old knots looked like eyes and the 
gnarled branches like claws staring at and ready to tear him 
in pieces. 

A raven, perched above him on a lonely branch, croaked 
dismally, till Andy fancied he could hear words of reproach in 
the sounds, while a little tom-tit chattered and twittered on a 
neighbouring bough as if he enjoyed and approved of all the 
severe things the raven uttered. The little tom-tit was the 
worst of the two, just as the solemn reproof of the wise can be 
better borne than the impertinent remark of some chattering 
fool. To these imaginary evils were added the reality of 
some enormous water-rats that issued from an adjacent pool 
and began to eat Andy's hat and shoes which had ^fallen off 
in his struggle with his captors; and all Andy's warning 
ejaculations could not make the vermin abstain from his shoes 
and his hat, which, to judge from their eager eating, could not 
stay their stomachs long, so that Andy, as he looked on at the 
rapid demolition, began to dread that they might transfer their 
favours from his attire to himself, until the tramp of ap- 
proaching horses relieved his anxiety, and in a few minutes 
wo horsemen stood before him — they were Father Phil and 
Squire Egan. 

Great was the surprise of the Father to see the fellow he 
had married the nijrht before and whom he supposed to be in 


the enjoyment of his honeymoon, tied up to a tree and looking 
more dead than alive ; and his indignation knew no bounds 
when he heard that a " couple-beggar" had dared to celebrate 
the marriage ceremony, which fact came out in the course of 
the explanation Andy made of the desperate misadventure 
which had befallen him ; but all other grievances gave way in 
the eyes of Father Phil to the " couple-beggar." 

" A ' couple-beggar ! ' — the audacious vagabones ! " he cried, 
while he and the Squire were engaged in loosing Andy's bonds. 
"A ' couple-beggar ' in my parish! How fast they have tied 
him up, Squire!" he added, as be endeavoured to undo a 
knot. " A ' couple-beggar,' indeed ! I'll undo the marriage! 
— have you a knife about you, Squire 1 — the blessed and holy 
tie of matrimony — it's a black knot, bad luck to it, and must 
be cut — take your leg out o' that now — and wait till I lay my 
hands on them — a ' couple-beggar ' indeed I " 

"A desperate outrage this whole affair has been ! '' said the 

" But a ' couple-beggar,' Squire." 

" His house broken into — " 

" But a ' couple-beggar ' — " 

" His wife taken from him !— " 

" But a ' couple-beggar' — " 

" The laws violated — " 

" But my dues, Squire — think o' that ! — what would become 
o' them, if ' couple-beggars' is allowed to show their audacious 
faces in the parish. Oh, wait till next Sunday, that's all— 
I'll have them up before the alther, and I'll make them beg 
God's pardon, and my pardon, and the congregation's pardon., 
the audacious pair ! "* 

" It's an assault on Andy," said the Squire. 

" It's a robbery on me," said Father Phil. 

" Could you identify the men 1 " said the Squire. 

" Do you know the ' couple-beggar V " said the priest. 

• A man and woman who had been united by a 'couple-beggar' were 
called up one Sunday by the priest in the face of the congregation, and 
summoned, as Father Phil threatens above, to beg God's pardon, and the 
priest's pardon, and the congregation's pardon ; but the woman stoutly 
refused the last condition; " I'll beg God's pardon and your Reverences 
pardon," she said, " but I won't beg the congregation's pardon." " You 
won't?" says the priest. "I won't," says she. "Oh you conthrairy 
baggage," cried his Reverence; "take her home out o' that," said he to her 
husband, who had humbled himself— "take her home, and leather her 
well — for she wants it ; and if you don't leather her, you'll be sorry — for 
if you don't make her afraid of you, she'll master you, tco— take hei 
home and leather her." — Fact. 

HANDY A?.'D1 291 

" Did James Casey lay his hands on you?" said the Squire ; 
"for lie's a good man to have a warrant ag-ainst." 

" Oh, Squire, Squire ! " ejaculated Father Phil ; "talking- of 
laying- hands on him is it you are?— dicin't that blackguard 
'couple-beggar' lav his dirty hands on a woman that my bran 
new benediction was upon! Sure, they'd do anything after 
that!" B 

By this time Andy was free, and having- received the 
Squire's directions to follow him to Merry vale, Father Phil and 
the worthy Squire were once more in their saddles and pro- 
ceeded quietly to the same place, the Squire silently con- 
quering- the audacity of the coup-de-main which robbed Andy 
•■»!' his wife, and his reverence puffing- out his rosy cheeks and 
muttering- sundry angry sentences, the only intelligible words 
*»t which were " couple- beggar." 


Doubtless the reader has anticipated that the presence of 
Father Phil in the company of the Squire at this immediate time 
was on account of the communication made by Andy about the 
.post-office affair. Father Phil had determined to give the 
Squire freedom from the strategetic coil in which Larry Hogan 
had ensnared him, and lost no time in setting about it ; and it 
was on his intended visit to Merryvale that he met its hospi- 
table owner, and telling him there was a matter of some private 
importance he wished to communicate, suggested a quiet ride 
together, and this it was which led to their traversing the 
lonely little lane where they discovered Andy, whose name was 
bo principal in the revelations of that day. 

To the Squire those revelations were of the dearest im- 
portance ; for they relieved his mind from a weight whLh had 
been oppressing it for some time, and set his heart at rest. 
Kgan, it must be remarked, was an odd mixture of courage 
and cowardice : undaunted by personal danger, but strangely 
timorous where moral courage was required. A remarkable 
shyness, too, that made him hesitate constantly in the utter- 
ante of a word which might explain away any difficulty in 
which he chanced to find himself; and this helped to keep his 


tongue tied in the matter where Larry Hogan had continued 
to make himself a bugbear. He had a horror, too, of being 
thought capable of doing a dishonourable thing, and the shame 
he felt at having peeped into a letter was so stinging, that the 
idea of asking any one's advice in the dilemma in which he was 
placed made him recoil irom the thought of such aid. Now, 
Father Phil had relieved him from the difficulties his own 
weakness imposed; the subject had been forced upon him; 
and once forced to speak he made a full acknowledgment of 
all that had taken place ; and when he found Andy had not 
borne witness against him, and that Larry Hogan only inferred 
his participation in the transaction, he saw on Father Phil's 
showing that he was not really in Larry Hogan's power; for 
though he admitted he had given Larry a trifle of money from 
time to time when Larry asked for it, under the influence of 
certain inuendoes, yet that was no proof against him ; and 
Father Phil's advice was to get Andy out of the way as soon 
as possible and then to set Larry quietly at defiance — that 
is to say, in Father Phil's own words, " to keep never mind- 
ing him." 

Now Andy not being encumbered with a wife (as fate had 
so ordained it) made the matter easier, and the Squire and the 
Father, as they rode towards Merryvale together to dinner, 
agreed to pack off Andy without delay and thus place him 
beyond Hogan's power; and as Dick Dawson was going to 
London with Murphy, to push the petition against Scatter- 
brain's return, it was looked upon as a lucky chance and Andy 
was at once named to bear them company. 

"But you must not let Hogan know that Andy is sent away, 
under your patronage, Squire," said the Father, '_' for that 
would be presumptive evidence you had an interest in his ab- 
sence ; and Hogan is the very blackguard would see it fast 
enough, for he is a knowing rascal." 

""He's the deepest scoundrel I ever met," said the Squire. 

"As knowing as a jailer," said Father Phil. "A jailer, 

did I say— by dad, he bates any jailer I ever heard of— for 

that fellow is so cute, he could keep Newgale with a hook and 


" By the bye, there's one thing I forgot to tell you respect- 
ing those letters I threw into the fire ; for remember, Father, I 
only peeped into one and destroyed the others ; but one of the 
letters, I must tell you, was directed to yourself." 

"Faith, then, I forgive you that, Squire," said Father 
Phil, " for I hate letters ; but if you have any scruple of con- 
science on the subject write me one yourself, and that will do 
as well." 


The Squire could not help thinking the Father's mode of 
settling the difficulty worthy of Handy Andy himself; but he 
did not toll the father so. 

They had now reached Merry vale, where the good-humoured 
priest was heartily welcomed, and where Doctor Growling, 
Dick Dawson, and Murphy were also guests at dinner. Great 
was the delight of the party at the history they heard, when the 
cloth was drawn, of Andy's wedding, so much in keeping with 
his former life and adventures, and Father Fhil had another 
opportunity of venting his rage against the "couple-beggar." 

"That was but a slip-knot you tied, father," said the 

'■ Aye, aye ! joke away, doctor." 

" Do you think, Father Phil," said Murphy, " that that 
marriage was made in heaven, where we are told marriages 
are made P" 

" I don't suppose it was, Mr. Murphy; for if it had itwould 
have held upon earth." 

" Very well answered, Father," said the Squire. 
"I don't know what other people think about matches 
being made in heaven," said Growling, " but I have my sus- 
picions they are sometimes made in another place." 
" Oh, fie, doctor !" said Mrs. Egan. 

" The doctor, ma'am, is an old bachelor," said Father Phil, 
M or he wouldn't say so." 

" Thank you, Father Phil, for so polite a speech." 
The doctor took his pencil from his pocket and began to 
write on a small bit of paper, which the priest observing, asked 
him what he was about, " or is it writing a prescription you 
are," said he, "for compounding better marriages than I 

" Something very naughty, I dare say, the doctor is doing," 
said Fanny Dawson. 

" Judge for yourself, lady fair," said the doctor, handing 
Fanny the slip of paper. 

Fanny looked at it for a moment and smiled, but declared 
it was very wicked indeed. 

" Then read it for the rompany and condemn me out of your 
own pretty mouth, Miss Dawson," said the doctor. 
" It is too wicked." 

" If it is ever so wicked," said Father Phil, "tiie wicked- 
ness will be neutralised by being read by an angel." 
"Well done, St.Omer's," cried Murphy. 
" Really, father," said Fanny, blushing, " you are desper- 
ately gallant to-day, and just to shame you, and show how 
little of an angel I am, I will read the doctor's epigram :— 


" ' Though matches are all made in heaven, they say, 
Yet Hymen, who mischief oft hatches, 
Sometimes deals with the house t 'other side of the way, 
And there they make Lucifer matches.' " 

" Oh, doctor ! I'm afraid you are a woman-hater," said Mrs. 
Egan. " Come away, Fanny, I am sure they want to get rid 
of us." 

" Yes," said Fanny, rising and joining her sister, who was 
leaving the room, " and now, after abusing poor Hymen, gen- 
tlemen, we leave you to your favourite worship of Bacchus." 

The departure of the ladies changed the conversation, and 
after the gentlemen had resumed their seats the doctor asked 
Dick Dawson how soon he intended going to London. 

" I start immediately," said Dick. " Don't forget to give 
me that letter of introduction to your friend in Dublin, whom 
I long to know." 

" Who is he ?'' asked the Squire. 

" One Tom Loftus — or, as his friends call him, ' Piping 
Tom,' from his vocal powers ; or, as some nickname him, 
' Organ Loftus,' from his imitation of that instrument, which 
is an excessively comical piece of caricature." 

" Oh ! I know him well," said Father Phil. 

"How did you manage to become acquainted with him?" 
inquired the doctor, " for I did not think he lay much in your 

" It was he became acquainted with me," said Father Phil, 
" and this was the way of it — he was down on a visit betimes 
in the parish I was in before this, and his behaviour was so wild 
that I was obliged to make an allusion in the chapel to his in- 
discretions, and threaten to make his conduct a subject of severe 
public censure if he did not mind his manners a little better. 
Well, my dear, who should call on me on the Monday morning 
after but Misther Tom, all smiles and graces, and protesting he 
was sorry he fell under my displeasure, and hoping I would 
never have cause to find fault with him again. Sure, I thought 
he was repenting of his misdeeds, and I said I was glad to hear 
such good words from him. ' A'then, Father,' says he, ' I hear 
you have got a great curiosity from Dublin — a shower-bath, I 
hear ?' So I said I had : and indeed, to be candid, I was as 
proud as a peacock of the same bath, which tickled my fancy 
when I was once in town, and so I bought it. ' Would you 
show it to me ?' says he. ' To be sure,' says I, and off I went, 
like a fool, and put the wather on the top, and showed him how, 
when a string was pulled, down it came — and he pretended not 
clearly to understand the thing, and at last he said, ' Sure it's 
•sot into that sentry-box you get V says he. ' Oh yes,' said I 


getting into it, quite innocent ; when, my dear, he slaps the 
door and listens it on me, and pulls the string and souses me 
with the water, and I with my best suit of black on me. I 
roared and shruted inside while IMislher Tom Loftus was 
.-ereechiu' laughing outside, and (laming round the room with 
delight. At last, when he could speak, he said, 'Now, Father, 
we're even,' says he, 'for the abuse you gave me yesterday,' 
and off he ran.'* 

"That's just like him," said Old Growling, chuckling; 
" he's a queer devil. I remember on one occasion a poor 
dandy puppy, who was in the same office with him — for Tom 
is in the Ordnance department, you must know — this puppy, 
sir, wanted to go to the Ashbourne races and cut a figure in 
the eyes of a rich grocer's daughter he was sweet upon." 

"Being sweet upon a grocer's daughter," said Murphy, 
"is like bringing coals to Newcastle." 

" Faith ! it was coals to Newcastle with a vengeance, in 
the present case, for the girl would have nothing to say to him, 
and Tom had great delight whenever he could annoy this poor 
fool in his love-making plots. So, when he came to Tom to 
ask for the loan of his horse, Tom said he should have him ;'/ 
he c 'villi malic the smallest use of him — ' but I don't think you 
can,' said Tom. ' Leave that to me,' said the youth. ' I don't 
think you could make him go,' said Tom. ' I'll buy a new pair 
of spurs,' said the puppy. 'Let them be handsome ones,' said 
Tom. ' I was looking at a very handsome pair at Lamprey's, 
yesterday,' said the young gentleman. ' Then you can buy 
them on your way to my stables,' said Tom ; and sure enough, 
sir, the youth laid out his money on a very costly pair of per- 
suaders, and then proceeded homewards with Tom. 'Now 
with all your spurs,' said Tom, 'I don't think you'll be able to 
make him go.' 'Is he so very vicious, then ?'' inquired the 
youth, who began to think of his neck. ' On the contrary,' 
said Tom, 'he"s perfectly quiet, but won't go for you I'll bet a 
pound.' 'Done !' said the youth. ' Well, try him,' said Tom, 
as he threw open the stable door. ' He's lazy, I see,' said the 
youth ; ' for he's lying down.' ' Faith, he is,' said Tom, ' and 
hasn't got up these two days !' ' Get up, you brute !' said tha 
innocent youth, giving a smart cut of his whip on the horse's 
tlank; but the horse did not budge. ' Why, he's deadl' says 
he. 'Ye;,' says Tom, 'since Monday last. So I don't think 
you can make him <ro, and you've lost your bet!' " 

"That was hardly a fair joke," said the Squire. 

" Tom never stops to think of that," returned the doctor \ 
"he's the oddest fellow I ever knew. The last time I was in 
Dublin, I called on Tom and found him one bitter cold and 


stormy morning standing at an open window, nearly quite un- 
dressed. On asking him what he was about, he said he was 
getting up a bass voice ; that Mrs. Somebody, who gave good 
dinners and bad concerts, was disappointed of her bass singer, 
and I think, said Torn, I'll be hoarse enough in the evening hi 
take double B flat. ' Systems are the fashion now,' said he j 
'there is the Logierian system and other systems, and mine i? 
the Cold-air-ian system, and the best in the world for getting 
up a bass voice.' " 

" That was very original certainly," said the Squire. 

" But did you ever hear of his adventure with the Duke ol 
Wellington ?" said the doctor. 

"The Duke!" they all exclaimed. 

"Yes— that is, when he was only Sir Arthur Wellesley. 
Well, I'll tell you." 

"Stop,'' said the Squire, "a fresh story requires a fresh 
bottle. Let me ring for some claret." 


The servant who brought in the claret announced at the 
same time the arrival of a fresh guest in the person of "Cap- 
tain Moriarty," who was welcomed by most of the party by the 
name of Randal. The Squire regretted he was too late for 
dinner, inquiring at the same time if he would like to have 
something to eat at the side-table ; but Randal declined the 
offer, assuring the Squire he had got some refreshment during 
the day while he had been out shooting ; but as the sport led 
him near Merryvale, and " he had a great thirst upon him," he 
did not know a better house in the country wherein to have 
" that same " satisfied. 

" Then you're just in time for some cool claret," said the 
Squire ; " so sit down beside the doctor, for he must have the 
first glass and broach the bottle, "before he broaches the story 
he"s going to tell us — that's only fair." 

The doctor filled his glass, and tasted. "What a nice 
1 chateau' ' Margaux' must be," said he, as he laid down his 
glass. "I should like to be a tenant-at-will there, at a small 

" And no taxes," said Dick. 


'" Except my duty to I lie claret," replied the doctor. 

" ' My favourite chateau 
Is that of Marguux.' 

" r.y the bye, talking of chateau, there's the big brewer over 
at the town who is anxious to affect gentility, and he heard 
some one use the word chujirau, and having found out it wag 
the French for hat, he determined to show off on the earliest 
possible occasion, and selected a public meeting of some sort to 
display his accomplishment. Taking sonic cause of objection 
to the proceedings as an excuse for leaving the meeting, he 
i«aid, ' Gentlemen, the fact is I can't agree with you, so I may 
as well take my chateau under my arm at once, and walk.' " 

"Is not that an invention of your own, doctor?" said the 

" I heard it for fact," said Growling. 

"And 'tis true," added Murphy, "for I was present when 
he Raid it. And at an earlier part of the proceedings, he sug- 
gested that the parish clerk should read the resolutions, because 
he had a good 'laudable voice.'" 

" A parish clerk ought to have," said the doctor — " ch, 
Father Phil ?— ' Laudamm V " 

"Leave your Latin," said Dick, " and tell us that story you 
promised about the Duke and Tom Loftus." 

" Right, Jlisther Dick," said Father Phil. 

" The story, doctor," said the Squire. 

" Oh, don't make such bones about it," said Growling ; 
" 'tis but a trifle, after all ; only it shows you what a queer and 
reckless rascal Tom is. I told you he was called ' Organ 
Loftus by his friends, in consequence of the imitation lie makes 
of that instrument; and it certainly is worth hearing and see- 
m_r, for your eyes have r.3 much to do with the affair as your 
ears. Tom plants himself on a high office stool, before one 
of iliose lofty desks with long rows of drawers down each side 
and a hole between to put your legs under. Well, sir, Tom 
] :i. - out the top drawers, like the steps of an organ, and the 
li.wi-r ones by way of pedals: and then he begins thrashing the 
desks like the finger-board of an organ, with his hands, while 
his feet kick away at the lower drawers as if ho were the greatest 
pedal p"-)Tnrmer out of Germany, and he emits a rapid suc- 
cession of grunts .and squeaks, producing a ludicrous remini- 
scence of tlie instrument, which I defy any one to hear without 
laughing. Several sows and an indefinite number of sucking 
pigs oould not make a greater noise, and Tom himself declares 
he studied the instrument in a pigflty, which ho maintains gav» 



the first notion of an organ. Well, sir, the youths in the offiw 
assist in ' doing the service,' as they call it, that is, making an 
imitation of the chanting and so forth in St. Patrick's cathedral." 

" Oh, the haythens ! " said Father Phil. 

" One does Spray, and another Weyman, and another Sir 
John Stevenson, and so on ; and they go on responsing and 
singing, ' Amen,' till the Ordnance Office rings again.'' 

" Have they nothing better to do ? " asked the Squire. 

" Very little but reading the papers," said the doctor, 

" Well — Tom — you must know, sir — was transferred some 
time ago, by the interest of many influential friends, to the 
London department ; and the fame of his musical powers had 
gone before him from some of the English clerks in Ireland 
who had been advanced to the higher posts in Dublin and kept 
up correspondence with their old friends in London ; and it 
was not long until Tom was requested to go through an 
anthem on the great office-desk. Tom was only too glad to be 
asked, and he kept the whole office in a roar for an hour with 
all the varieties of the instrument— from the diapason to the 
flute-stop — and the devil a more business was done in the 
office that day, and Tom before long made the sober English 
fellows as great idlers as the chaps in Dublin. Well — it was 
not long until a sudden flush of business came upon the de- 
partment, in consequence of the urgent preparations making 
for supplies to Spain, at the time the Duke was going there to 
take the command of the army, and organ-playing was set aside 
tor some days; but the fellows, after a week's abstinence, 
began to yearn for it, and Tom was requested to ' do the ser- 
vice.' Tom, nothing loath, threw aside his official papers, set 
up a big ledger before him and commenced his legerdemain, as 
he called it, pulled out his stops, and began to work away like 
a weaver, while every now and then he swore at the bellows- 
blower for not giving him wind enough, whereupon the 
choristers would kick the bellows-blower, to accelerate his 
S.atulency. Well, sir, they were in the middle of the service, 
anl 11 the blackguards making the responses in due season, 
when, just as Tom was quivering under a portentous grunt, 
whi;h might have shamed the principal diapason of Harlaem, 
and the subs were drawing out a resplendent ' A — a — a — men, 
the door opened, and in walked a smart-looking gentleman, 
with rather a large nose and quick eye, which latter glanced 
round the office, where a sudden endeavour was made by 
everybody to get back to his place. The smart gentleman 
seemed rather surprised to see a little fat man blowing at a 
desk instead of the fire, and long Tom kicking, grunting, and 
saueeling like mad. The bellows-blower was so taken by »u» 


prise he couldn't stir, and Tom, having his back to 
aid not see what had taken place, and went on as if nothing 
had happened, till the smart gentleman went up to him, and 
tapping on Tom's desk with a little riding-whip, he said, 'I'm 
sorry to disturb you sir, but I wish to know what you're 
about.' 'We're doing the service, sir,' said Tom no ways 
•ibaslu d at the sight of the sfanger, for he did not know it 
was Sir Arthur Wellcsley was talking to him. 'Not the 
public service, sir,' said Sir Arthur. ' Yes sir,' said Tom, ' the 
service as by law established in the second year of the 
reign of King Edward the Sixth,' and he favoured the future 
hero of "Waterloo with a touch of the organ. ' Who is the 
head of this office? ' inquired Sir Arthur. Tom, with a very 
gracious bow, replied, ' I am principal organist sir, and allow 
me to introduce you to the principal bellows-blower' — and he 
pointed to the poor little man, who let the bellows fall from 
his hand as Sir Arthur fixed his eyes on him. Tom did not 
perceive till now that all the clerks were taken with a sudden 
fit of industry, and were writing away for the bare life ; and 
he cast a look of surprise round the office while Sir Arthur 
was looking at the bellows-blower. One of the clerks made 
a wry face at Tom which showed him all was not right. 
' Is this the way His Majesty's service generally goes on here?' 
said Sir Arthur, sharply. No one answered ; but Tom saw, 
by the long faces of the clerks and the short question of the 
visitor, that he was somebody- 

'" Some transports are waiting for ordnance stores and I 
am referred to this office,' said Sir Arthur ; ' can any one 
give me a satisfactory answer ?' 

" The senior clerk present (for the head of the office was 
absent) came forward and said, ' I believe, sir,' — 

" ' You believe, but you don't know', said Sir Arthur ; 

so I must wait for stores while you are playing tomfoolery 

he^e. I'll report this.' Then producing a little tablet and a 

pencil, he turned to Tom and said, 'Favour me withyour name, 


" ' I give you my honour, sir,' said Tom — 

" ' I'd rather you'd give me the stores, sir — I'll trouble you 
or your name ?' 

" ' Upon my honour sir,' said Tom, again. 

" ' You seem to have a great deal of' that article on your 
lands sir,' 6aid Sir Arthur: 'you're an Irishman, I sup- 
pose ?' 

" ' Yes, sir,' saii Tom, 

" ' I thought bo, Yoni iiaisin r* 

'"loflm. sir.' 


" ' Ely family ?' 

" ' No, sir.' 

" 'Glad of it.' _ 

" He put up his tablet after writing the name. 

" ' May I beg the favour to know, sir,' said Torn, ' to 
saom I have the honour of addressing myself? ' 

" ' Sir Arthur Wellesley, sir.' 

'" Oh ! J s !' cried Tom, 'I'm done !' 

" Sir Arthur could not help laughing at the extraordinary 
change in Tom's countenance ; and Tom, taking advantage of 
this relaxation in his iron manner, said, in a most penitent 
tone, ' Oh, Sir Arthur Wellesley, only forgive me this time, and 
'pon my sowl' says he — with the richest brogue — ' I'll play 
a Te Deum for the first licking you give the French." Sir 
Arthur smiled and left the office." 

" Did he report as he threatened ?" asked the Squire. 

" Faith, he did." 

" And Tom ?" inquired Dick. 

" Was sent back to Ireland, sir." 

" That was hard, after the Duke smiled at him," said 

" Well, he did not let him suffer in pocket ; he was trans- 
ferred at as good a salary to a less important department; but 
you know the Duke has been celebrated all his life for never 
overlooking a breach of duty." 

" And who can blame him v ' said Moriarty. 

" One great advantage of the practice has been," said the 
Squire, " that no man has been better served. I remember 
hearing a striking instance of what, perhaps, might be called 
severe justice, which he exercised on a young and distinguished 
officer of artillery in Spain ; and though one cannot help pity- 
ing the case of the gallant young fellow who was the sacrifice, 
yet the question of strict duty, to the very word, was set at rest 
for ever under the Duke's command, and it saved much after 
trouble by making every officer satisfied, however fiery his 
oo urage or tender his sense of being suspected of the white 
tea ther, that implicit obedience was the course he must pursue. 
The case was this: — the army was going into action — " 

" What action was it ?" inquired Father Phil, with that 
remarkable alacrity which men of peace evince in hearing the 
fullest particulars about war, perhaps because it is forbidden to 
their cloth ; one of the many instances of things acquiring a 
fictitious value by being interdicted — just as Father Phil him- 
self might have been a Protestant only for the per>a5 *aws. 

" I don't know what action it was," said the Sqttlre, "nor 
the officer's iarcq — for I don't set un for a military chronicler! 

i:a.n:>y andy. SO! 

but it wa9, as I have been telling you, going into action that 
the Duke posted an officer, with his six guns, at a certain point, 
felling him to remain there until he had orders from Mm. 
Away went the rest of the army, and the officer was left doing 
nothing at all, which he didn't like; for he was one of those 
high-blooded gentlemen who are never so happy as when they 
are making other people miserable, and he was longing for the 
head of a French column to be hammering away at. In half an 
hour or so he heard the distant sound of action, and it ap- 
proached nearer and nearer, until he heard it close behind 
him ; and he wondered rather that he was not invited to take 
a share in it, when, pat to his thought, up came an aide-de-camp 
at full speed, telling him that General Somebody ordered him 
to bring up his guns. The officer asked did not the order come 
from Lord Wellington ? The aide-de-camp said no, but from the 
General, whoever he was. The officer explained that he was 
placed there by Lord Wellington, under command not to move, 
unless by an order from himself. The aide-de-camp stated 
that the General's entire brigade was being driven in and must 
be annihilated without the aid of the guns, and asked ' would 
he let a whole brigade be slaughtered?' in a tone which 
wounded the young soldier's pride, savouring, as he thought it 
did, of an imputation on his courage. He immediately ordered 
his guns to move and joined battle with the General ; but 
while he was away, an aide-de-camp from Lord Wellington 
rode up to where the guns had been posted, and, of course, nc 
gun was to be had for the service which Lord Wellington re- 
quired. Well, the French were repulsed, as it happened; but 
the want of those six guns seriously marred a preconcerted 
movement of the Duke's, and the officer in command of them 
was immediately brought to a court-martial, and would have 
lost his commission but for the universal interest made in his 
favour by the general officers in consideration of his former 
meritorious conduct and distinguished gallantry, and under the 
peculiar circumstances of the case. They did not break him, 
but he was suspended, and Lord Wellington sent him home to 
England. Almost every general officer in the army endeavoured 
to get his sentence revoked, lamenting the fate of a gallant 
fellow being sent away for a slight error in judgment while the 
army was in hot action ; but Lord Wellington was inexorable 
saying he must make an example to secure himself in the 
perfect obedience of officers to their orders ; and it had the 

" Well, that's what I call hard !" said Dick. 

" My dear Dick," said the Seuire, " war is altogether a hard 

302 rfANDY AK1>Y. 

thing, and a inan has no business to be a General who isn't as 
hard as his own round shot." 

"And what became of the dear young man ?" said Father 
Phil, who seemed much touched by the readiness with which 
the dear young man set off to mow down the French. 

" I can tell you," said Moriarty, " for I served with him 
afterwards in the Peninsula. He was let back after a year or 
so, and became so thorough a disciplinarian, that he swore, 
when once he was at his post ' They might kill Ms father before 
his face and he wouldn't budge until he had orders.' " 

" A most Christian resolution," said the doctor. 

" Well, I can tell you," said Moriarty, " of a Frenchman, 
who made a greater breach of discipline, and it was treated 
more leniently. I heard the story from the man's own lips, 
and if I could only g^ye you his voice and gesture and manner it 
would amuse you. What fellows those Frenchmen are, to be 
sure, for telling a story ! they make a shrug or a wink have 
twenty different meanings, and their claws are most eloquent 
— one might say they talk on their fingers — and their broken 
English I think helps them." 

" Then give the story, Randal, in his manner," said Dick. 
' I have heard you imitate a Frenchman capitally," 

" Well, here goes," said Moriarty ; " but let me wet my 
whistle with a glass of claret before I begin — a French story 
should have French wine .'* Randall tossed off one glass, and 
filled a second by way oi reserve, and then began the French 
officer's story. 

"You see, sare, it vos ven in Espagne de bivouac vos vairy 
ard indeet 'pon us, vor ve coot naut get into de town at all, 
nevair, becos you dam Ingelish keep all de town to yoursefs— 
vor ve fall back at dat time becos we get not support — no corps 
de reserve, you perceive — so ve mek retrograde movement— not 
retreat — no, no — but retrograde movement. Veil — von night I 
was wit my picket guart, and it was raining like de devil, and de 
vind vos vinding up de val!y,so cold as noting at all, and de dark 
vos vot you could not see — no — not your nose bevore your face. 
Well, I hear de tramp of horse, and I look into de dark— for 
ve vere vairy moche on the qui vive, because ve expec de Inge- 
lish to attaque de next day — but I see noting; but de tramp 
of horse come closer and closer, and at last I ask, 'Who is dere? 
and de tramp, of de horse stop. I run forward, and den I see 
Ingelish offisair of cavallerie. I address him, and tell him he 
is in our lines, but I do not vant to mek him prisonair — for you 
must know dat he vos prisonair, if I like, ven he vos vithin our 
fine. He is very polite — he say, ' Bien oblige — bon eiifatd; 
End ve tek off our hat to each ozer. • I aff lost my roat,' he 


say; and I say, ' Yais' — bote I vill put him iiito his roue, and 
so I ask for a moment pardon, and go back to my caporal, and 
toll liim to be on de qui vive till I come back. De Ingeli'ah 
oilisair and me talk very plaisant vile ve go togezer down de 
leetol roat, and ven ve come to de turn, I say, ' Bon soir, 
Monsieur le Capitaine — dat is your vay.' He den tank me, vera 
moche like gentilman, and vish he coot mek me some return 
for my generosite, as he please to say — and I say, ' Bah ! 
Ingclish gentilman vood do de same to French offisair who lose 
his vay.' 'Den come here,' he say, l bon enfant, can you leave 
your post for 'aff an hour ?' ' Leave my post ?' I say. ' Yais,' 
said he, 'I know your army has not moche provision lately, and 
maybe you are ongrie ?' ' Ma fox, yais,' said I ; 'I aff naut 
slips to my eyes, nor meat to my stomach, for more dan fife 
days.' l Veil, hon enfant] he say, ' come vis me, and I vill gif 
you goot supper, goot vine, and goot velcome.' ' Coot I leave 
my post ?' I say. He say, ' Bah ! Caporal take care till you 
come back.' By gar, I coot naut resist — he vos so vairy moche 
gentilman and / vos so ongrie — I go vis him — not fife hunder 
yarts — ah ! hon Dieu — how nice ! In de corner of a leetel ruin 
chapel dere is nice bit of fire, and hang on a string before it de 
half of a kid — oh del I de smell of de ros-bif was so nice — I 
rub my hands to de fire — I sniff de cuisine — I see in anozer 
corner a couple bottles of wine — sacre ! it vos all watair in my 
mouts ! Ve sit down to suppair — I nevair did ate so moche in 
my life. Ve did finish de bones, and vosh down all mid ver 
good wine — excellent ! Ve drink de toast — ct la gloire — and ve 
talk of de campaign. Ve drink a la Patrie, and den 1 tink of 
la belle France and ma douce amie — and he fissel, ' Got safe 
de king.' Ve den drink d Vamitie, and shek hands over dat 
fire in good frainship — dem two hands that might cross de swords 
in de morning. Yais, sair, dat was fine — 'twas galliard — 'twas 
U vrai chivalrie — two sojair ennemi to share de same kid, 
drink de same wine, and talk like two friends. Veil, I got den 
so sleepy, dat my eyes go blink, blink, and my goot friend says 
to me, ' Sleep, old fellow ; I know you aff got hard fare of late, 
and you are tired ; sleep, all is quiet for to-night, and I will 
call you before dawn.' Sair, I vos so tired, I forgot my duty, 
and fall down fast asleep. Veil, sair, in de night de pickets of 
de two armie get so close, and mix up, dat some shot gets fired, 
snd in one moment all in confusion. I am shake by de shoulder 
— I wake like from dream — I heard shurpfusillade — my friend 
cry, ' Fly to your post, it is attack !' We exchange one shek 
ci'de hand, and I run off to my post. Oh, del ! — it is driven in 
— I see dem fly. Oh, mon desespoir a ce moment Id, ! I am ruin 
-deshonore — I rush to de front — I rally mes braves — ve stand 1 


— ve advance ! ! — ve regain de post ! ! ! — I am safe ! ! ! ! De 
fusillade cease — it is only an affair of outposts. I tink I am safe 
— I tink I am very fine fellow — but Monsieur V Aide-Major send 
for me and speak, ' Vere vos you last night, sair ? * 'I mount 
guard by de mill.' ' Are you sure ?' ' Out, monsieur.'' ' Vere vo8 
you when your post vos attack ? ' I saw it vos no use to deny any 
longair, so I confess to him every ting. ' Sair,' said he, ' you 
rally your men very good, or you shoidd be shot ! Young man, 
remember,' said he — I will never forget his vorts — ' young man, 
vine is goot — slip is goot — goat is goot — but honners is betters !'" 

" A capital story, Randal," cried Dick ; " but how much of 
it did you invent ? " 

" Ton my life it is as near the original as possible." 

" Besides, that is not a fair way of using a story," said the 
doctor. " You should take a story as you get it, and not play 
the dissector upon it, mangling its poor body to discover the 
bit of embellishment; and as long as a raconteur maintains 
vraisemblance, I contend you are bound to receive the whole 
as true." 

"A most author-like creed, doctor," said Dick ; "you are 
a storyteller yourself, and enter upon the defence of your 
craft with great spirit." 

"And justice, too," said the squire; "the doctor is quite 

" Don't suppose I can't see the little touches of the artist," 
said the doctor ; " but so long as they are in keeping with the 
picture I enjoy them ; for instance, my friend Randal's touch 
of the Englishman ' fissling Got safe de King'' is very happy— 
quite in character." 

" Well, good or bad, the story in substance is true," said 
Randal, " and puts the Englishman in a fine point of view— a 
generous fellow, sharing his supper with his enemy whose 
sword may be through his body in the next morning's ' affair.'" 

" But the Frenchman was generous to him first," remarked 
the Squire. 

"Certainly — I admit it," said Randal. "In short, they 
were both fine fellows." 

" Oh, sir," said Father Phil, "the French are not deficient 
in a chivalrous spirit. I heard once a very pretty little bit of 
anecdote about the way they behaved to one of our regiments 
on a retreat in Spain." 

" Your regiments ! " said Moriarty, who was rather fond 0/ 
hitting hard at a priest when he could ; " a regiment of friars 
is it?" 

" No, captain, but of soldiers ; and its going through a 
river they were, and the French, taking advantage of their 


helpless condition, were peppering away at them hard and 

" Very generous indeed!" said Moriarty, laughing. 

"Let me finish my story, captain, before you quiz it. I say 
they were peppering them sorely while they were crossing the 
river, until some women — the followers of the camp — ran down 
(poor creatures) to the shore, and the stream was so deep in the 
middle they could scarcely ford it ; so some dragoons who were 
galloping as hard as they could out of the fire pulled up on 
seeing the condition of the womenkind, and each horseman took 
up a woman behind him, though it diminished his own power 
of speeding from the danger. The moment the French saw 
this act of'manly courtesy they ceased firing, gave the dragoons 
a cheer, and as long as the women were within gunshot, not a 
trigger was pulled in the French line, but volleys of cheers in- 
stead of ball-cartridge were sent after the brigade till all the 
women were over. Now wasn't that generous r"' 

"'Twas a handsome thing!" was the universal remark. 

" And faith I can tell you, Captain Moriarty, the army took 
advantage of it ; for there was a great struggle to have the 
pleasure of the ladies' company over the river." 

" I dare say, Father Phil," said the Squire, laughing. 

" Throth, Squire," said the padre, "fond of the girls as the 
soldiers have the reputation of being, they never liked them 
better than that same day." 

" Yes, yes," said Moriarty, a little piqued, for he rather 
affected the " dare-devil," " I see you mean to insinuate that 
we soldiers fear fire." 

" I did not say ' fear,' captain — but they'd like to get out of 
it, for all that, and small blame to them — aren't they flesh and 
blood like ourselves?" 

"Not a bit like you," said Moriarty. "You sleek and 
smooth gentlemen who live in luxurious peace know little of 
a soldier's danger or feelings." 

" Captain, we ail have our dangers to go through ; and 
may be a priest has as many as a soldier ; and we only show a 
difference of taste, after all, in the selection." 

" Well, Father Blake, all I know is, that a true soldier fears 
nothing !" said Moriarty with energy. 

" Maybe so,'' answered Father Phil, quietly. 

" It is quite clear, however," said Murphy, " that war, with 
all its horrors, can call out occasionally the finer feelings of our 
natures ; but it is only such redeeming traits as those we have 
heard which can reconcile us to it. I remember having heard 
an incident of war, myself, which affected me much," said 
Murphy, who caught the infection of military anecdote which 


circled the table; and indeed there is no more catching theme 
can be started among men, for it may be remarked that when- 
ever it is broached it flows on until it is rather more than time 
if go to the ladies. 

" It was in the earlier portion of the memorable day of Wa- 
terloo," said Murphy, "that a young officer of the Guards re- 
ceived a wound which brought him to the ground. His com- 
panions rushed on to seize some point which their desperate 
valour was callod on to carry, and he was left, utterly unable to 
rise, for the wound was in his foot. He lay for some hours 
with the thunder of tha * terrible day ringing around him, and 
many a rush of horse and foot had passed, close beside him. 
Towards the close of the day he saw one of the Black Bruns- 
wick dragoons approaching, -vho drew rein as his eye caught the 
young Guardsman, pale and almost fainting, on the ground. 
He alighted, and finding he was not mortally wounded assisted 
him to rise, lifted him into his saddle, and helped to support 
him there while he walked beside him to the English rear. The 
Brunswicker was an old man; his brow and moustache 
were grey ; despair was in his sunken eye, and from time to 
time he looked up with an expression of the deepest yearning 
into the face of the young soldier, who saw big tears rolling 
down the veteran's cheek while he gazed upon him. 'You 
seem in bitter sorrow, my kind friend,' said the stripling. 'No 
wonder,' answered the old man, with a hollow groan. 'land 
my three boys were in the same regiment — they were alive the 
morning of Ligny — I am childless to-day. But I have revenged 
them !' he said fiercely, and as he spoke he held out his sword, 
which was literally red with blood. 'But, oh ! that will not 
bring me back my boys!' he exclaimed, relapsing into his 
sorrow. ' My three gallant boys !' — and again he wept bitterly, 
till clearing his eyes from the tears, and looking up in the 
young soldier's handsome face, he said tenderly, 'You are like 
my youngest one, and I could not let you lie on the field.'" 

Even the rollicking Murphy's eyes were moist as he recited 
this anecdote ; and as for Father Phil, he was quite melted, 
eiitculating in an under tone, " Oh, my poor fellow! my poor 
fellow !" 

" So there," said Murphy, "is an example of a man, with 
revenge in his heart, and his right arm tired with slaughter, 
guddenly melted into gentleness by a resemblance to his child." 

"'Tis very touching, but very sad," said the Squire. 

" My dear sir," said the doctor, with his peculiar dryness, 
" sadness is the principal fruit which warfare must ever produce. 
You may talk of glory as long as you like, but you cannot have 
your laurel without your cypress, and though you may select 


certain bits of sentiment out of a mass of horrors, if you allow 
me, I will give you one little story which shan't keep you long, 
and will serve as a commentary upon war and glory in general. 

" At the peace of 1803, 1 happened to be travelling through 
a town in France where a certain count I knew resided. I waited 
upon him, and he received me most cordially and invited me 
to dinner. I made the excuse that I was only en route, and 
supplied with but travelling costume, and therefore not fit to 
present myself amongst the guests of such a house as his. He 
assured me I should only meet his own family, and pledged 
himself for Madame la Comtesse being willing to waive the 
ceremony of a grancle toilette. I went to the house at the 
appointed hour, and as I passed through the hall I cast a glance 
at the dining-room and saw a very long table laid. On arriving 
at the reception-room, I taxed the count with having broken 
faith with me, and was about making my excuses to the countess 
when she assured me the count had dealt honestly by me, for 
that I was the only guest to join the family party. Well, we sat 
down to dinner, three- and-twenty persons ; myself, the count and 
countess, and their twenty children ! and a more lovely family 
I never saw; he a man in the vigour of life, she a still attrac- 
tive woman, and these their offspring lining the table, where 
the happy eyes of father and mother glanced with pride and 
affection from one side to the other on these future staffs of 
their old age. Well, the peace of Amiens was of short dura- 
tion, and I saw no more of the count till Napoleon's abdication. 
Then I visited France again, and saw my old friend. But it 
was a sad sight, sir, in that same house, where, little more than 
ten years before, I had seen the bloom and beauty of twenty 
children, to sit down with three — all he had left him. His sons 
had fallen in battle — his daughters had died widowed, leaving 
but orphans. And thus it was all over France. While the 
public voice shouted ' Glory ! ' wailing was in her homes. Her 
temple of victory was filled with trophies, but her hearths 
were made desolate." 

'• Still, sir, a true soldier fears nothing," repeated 

" Buithershin,'' said Father Phil. " Faith I have been in 
places of danger you'd be glad to get out of, I can tell you, as 
bowhl as you are, captain." 

" You'll pardon me for doubting you, Father Blake," said 
Moriarty, rather huffed. 

'■ Faith then you wouldn't like to be where I was before I 
came here ; that is, in a mud cabin, where I was giving the 
last rites to six people dying in the typhus fever." 

" Typhus!" exclaimed Moriarty, growing pale, and instinc- 


tively withdrawing his chair as far as he could from the padre 
beside whom he sat. 

" Ay, typhus, sir ; most inveterate typhus." 

"Gracious Heaven!" said Moriarty, rising, "how can you 
do such a dreadful thing as run the risk of bearing infection 
into society V 

" I thought soldiers were not afraid of anything," said 
Father Phil, laughing at him ; and the rest of the party joined 
in the merriment. 

" Fairly hit, Moriarty," said Dick. 

"Nonsense," said Moriarty; when I spoke of danger, I 
meant such open danger as — in short, not such insidious lurking 
abomination as infection ; for I contend that — " 

" Say no more, Randal," said Growling, "you're done! — 
Father Phil has floored you." 

" I deny it," said Moriarty, warmly ; but the more he de- 
nied it the more every one laughed at him. 

" You're more frightened than hurt, Moriarty," said the 
Squire; "for the best of the joke is, Father Phil wasn't in 
contact with typhus at all, but was riding with me — and 'tis 
but a joke." 

Here they all roared at Moriarty, who was excessively 
angry, but felt himself in such a ridiculous position that he 
could not quarrel with anybody. 

" Pardon me, my dear captain," said the Father ; " I only 
wanted to show you that a poor priest has to run the risk of 
his life just as much as the boldest soldier of them all. But 
don't you think, Squire, 'tis time to join the ladies? I'm sure 
the tay will be tired waiting for us." 


Mhs. Egan was engaged in some needlework, and Fanny 
turning over the leaves of a music-hook, and occasionally 
humming some bars of her favourite songs as the gentlemen 
came into the drawing-room. Fanny rose from the pianoforte 
as they entered. 

" Oh, Miss Dawson," exclaimed Moriarty, " why tantalise 
us so much as to let us see you seated in that place where you 
can render so much delight, "only to leave it as we enter 2" 


Fanny turned off the captain's flourishing 1 speech with a 
few lively words and a smile, and took her seat at the tea-tal>!u 
to do the honours. 

" The captain," said Father Phil to the doctor, " is equally 
great in love or war." 

" And knows about as little of one as the other," said the 
doctor ; "his attacks are too open." 

" And therefore easily foiled," said Father Phil. " How 
that pretty creature, with the turn of a word and a curl of her lip 
upset him that time! Oh! what a powerful thing a woman's 
smile is, doctor? I often congratulate myself that my calling 
puts all such mundane follies and attractions out of my way, 
when I see and know what fools wise men are sometimes made 
by silly girls. Oh, it is fearful, doctor ; though, of course, part 
of the mysterious dispensation of an allwise providence." 

"That fools should have the mastery, is it?" inquired the 
doctor, drily, with a mischievous query in his eye as well. 

"Tut, tut, tut, doctor," replied Father Phil, impatiently; 
"you know well enough what I mean, and I won't allow you 
to engage me in one of your ingenious battles of words. I 
speak of that wonderful influence of the weaker sex over the 
stronger, and how the word of a rosy lip outweighs sometimes 
the resolves of a furrowed brow ; and how the — pooh ! pooh l 
I'm making a fool of myself talking to you — but to make a long 
story short, I would rather wrastle out a logical dispute any day, or 
a tough argument of one of the fathers, than refute some 
absurdity which fell from a pretty mouth with a smile on it." 

" Oh, I quite agree with you," said the doctor, grinning, 
" that the fathers are not half such dangerous customers as the 

"Ah, go along with you, doctor 1" said Father Phil, with a 
good-humoured laugh. "I see you are in one of your mis- 
chievous moods, and so I'll have nothing more to say to you." 

The Father turned away to join the Squire, while the Doctor 
took a seat near Fanny Dawson and enjoyed a quiet little bit of 
conversation with her, while Moriarty was turning over the 
leaves of her album ; but the brow of the captain, who affected 
a taste in poetry, became knit, and his lip assumed a contemptu- 
ous curl as he perused some lines, and asked Fanny who's was 
the composition. 

" I forget," was Fanny's answer. 

" I don't wonder," said Moriarty ; "the author is not worth 
remembering, for they are very rough." 

Fanny did not seem pleased with the criticism, and said, 
that when sung to the measure of the air written down on tho 
opposite page, they were very flowing. 


" But the principal phrase, the ' refrain] I may say, is 10 
Vulgar," added Moriarty, returning 1 to the charge. " The gen- 
tleman says, 'What would you do?' and the lady answers, 
' That's what I'd do.' Do you call that poetry V 

" I don't call that poetry," said Fanny, with some emphasis 
on the word ; " but if you connect those two phrases with what 
is intermediately written, and read all in the spirit of the entire 
of the verses, I think there is poetry in them — but if not poetry, 
certainly feeling." 

" Can you tolerate 'That's what I'd doV — the pert answer 
of a housemaid." 

"A phrase in itself homely," answered Fanny, "may become 
elevated by the use to which it is applied." 

" Quite true, Miss Dawson," said the doctor, joining in the 
discussion. " But what are these lines which excite Randal's 
ire V 

" Here they are," said Moriarty. " I will read them, if 
you allow me, and then judge between Miss Dawson and 

' What will you do, love, when I am going, 

With -white sail flowing, 

The seas beyond? 
What will you do, love, when — ' " 

"Stop thiet ! — stop thief!" cried the doctor. "Why, you 
are robbing' the poet of his reputation as fast as you can. You 
don't attend to the rhythm of those lines — you don't give the 
rhif/itif] ot the verse." 

'" That's just what I have said in other words," said Fanny. 
" When <ung to the melody they are smooth." 

" But a good reader, Miss Dawson," said the doctor," will read 
verse with the proper accent, just as a musician would divide it into 
bars ; but my friend Randal there, although lie can tell a good 
stor}' and hit off prose very well, has no more notion of rhythm 
or poetry than new beer has of a holiday." 

" And why, pray, has not new beer a notion of a holiday?" 

" Because, sir, it works oi a Sunday." 

" Your beer may be new, doctor, but your joke i3 not — 1 
have seen it before in some old form." 

" Well, sir, if I found it in its old form, like a hare, and started 
it fresh, it may do for folks to run after as well as anything else. 
But you shan't escape your misdemeanor in mauling those 
verses as you have done, by finding fault with myjokerafc- 
vivi/s. You read those lines, sir, like a bellman, without any 
attention to metre." 


" To be sure," said Father Phil, who had been listening 1 for 
eome time; " they have a ring in them — " 

"Like a pig's nose," said the doctor. 

i' All, be aisy," said Father Phil. "I say they have ring 
in them like an owld Latin canticle — 

'What will yon do, love, when I am /70-inpj, 

With white sail _/?o?«-ing. 

The says be-t/ondt 


"To bo sure," said the doctor. "I vote for thi Father's 
reading them out on the spot." 

" Pray, do Mister Blake," said Fanny. 

"All, Miss Dawson, what have I to do with reading losre 
verses V 

"Take the book, sir, 1 ' said Growling, "an-d show me you 
have some faith in your own sayings, by obeying a lady 
directly '' 

" Pooh ! pooh !" said the priest. 

" You won't refuse me ?" said Fanny, in a coaxing tone. 

" My dear Miss Dawson,'' said the padre. 

" Father Phil!" said Fanny, with one of her rosy smiles. 

"Oil, wow! wow! wow!" ejaculated the priest, in an 
amusing embarassment, " I see you will make me do what- 
ever you like." So Father Phil gave the rare example of a 
man acting up to his own theory, and could not resist the 
demand that came from a pretty mouth. He took the book 
and read the lines with much feeling, but with an observance 
of rhythm so grotesque, that it must be given in his own 

Mfcat tall sou bo, fnfo? 

" What tcilt you do, love, when I am ffo-'mg, 

With white sail flow-'mg, 
The seas \w-yondt 
What will you do, love, when waves Ai-vide us, 
And friends may elude us, 
For bAng fond ? " 

"Though waves di-wiie us, and friends be c/ji-ding, 
In taith a-6i-ding, 

I'll still be true: 
And I'll pray for t/iee on the stormy o-cean, 
In deepde-cotion, — 

That's what I'll do!* 

812 HAND! ANDY. 


" What would you do, love, if distant fe'-dings 
Thy fond con-^-dings 

Should under-rt7?!e ; 
And I a-Ji-ding neath sultry skies, 

Should think other eyes 

Were as bright an LllvJ' 

" Oh, name it not; though guilt and shame 
Were on thy name, 

I'd still be true, 
But that heart of thine, should another share it, 
I could not bear it ; — 

What would I do V 


"What loovld you do, when, home re-torre-ing, 

With hopes high burn-mg, 

With wealth for you, — 
If my bark, that bound-zd o'er foreign foam, 

Should be lost near home; — 

Ah, what would you do J" 

So thou wert spar-'d, I'd bless the mor-row, 
In want and sor-row, 

That left me you; 
And I'd welcome thee from the wasting bil-low, 
My heart thy pil-lov? ! — 

That's what I'd do !"• 

" Well clone, padre ! " said the doctor ; " with good emphasis 
and discretion." 

" And now, my dear Miss Dawson," said Father Phil, 
" since I've read the lines at your high bidding, will you sing 
them for me at my humble asking?" 

"Very antithetically put, indeed," said Fanny; "but you 
must excuse me." 

* Note to the third edition. — The foregoing dialogue and Mo- 
riarty's captious remarks were meant, when they appeared in the first 
edition, as a hit at a certain small critic — a would-be song writer — who 
does illnatured articles for the Reviews, and expressed himself very con- 
temptuously of my songs because of their simplicity, or, as he was 
pleased to phrase it, " I had a knack of putting common things toge- 
ther." The song was. written to illustrate my belief that the most 
common place expression, appropriately applied, may succesfully serve 
the purposes of the lyric; and here experience has proved me right, 
for this very song of " What will you do ?" (containing within it the other 
common-place, " That's what I'd do") has been received with special 
favour by the public, whose long-continued goodwill towards my 
compositions generally I gratefully acknowledge. 


u You said there was a tune to it?" 

" Yes ; but 1 promised Captain Moriarty to sing him this,'' 
faiu Fanny, ^oinpr over to the pianoforte, and laying 1 her hand 
on on open music book. 

" Thanks, Miss Dawson," said Moriarty, following- fast. 

Now, it was not that Fanny Dawson liked the captain 
that she was going to sing the song ; but she thought he had 
been rather "mobbed" by the doctor and the padre about the 
reading of the verses, and it was her good breeding which made 
her pay this little attention to the worsted party. She poured 
forth her sweet voice in a simple melody to the following 
irords : — 

Sag not mg jfrart is tolb. 

" Say not my heart is cold, 

Because of a silent tongue! 
The lute of faultless mould 

In silence oft hath hung. 
The fountain soonest spent 

Doth habble down the steep; 
Cut the stream that ever went 

Is silent, strong, and deep. 

'The charm of a secret life 

Is given to choicest things: — 
Of flowers, the fragrance rife 

Is wafted on viewless wings; 
We see not the charmed air 

Bearing some witching sound; 
And ocean deep is where 

The pearl of price is found. 


" Where are the stars by day? 

They burn, though all unseen ! 
And love of purest ray 

Is like the stars, I ween : 
Unmark'd is the gentle light 

When the sunshine of joy appear*, 
But ever, in sorrow's night, 

Twill glitter upon thy tears!" 

" Welli Randal, does that poem satisfy your critical taster- 
th '■"sinking there can be but one opinion." 


"Yes, I think it pretty," said Moriarty, "w>*. there is one 
word in the last verse I object to." 

" Which is that ?" inquired Growling 1 . 

" Ween," said the other ; " ' the stars, I ween,' I object to." 

" Don't you see the meaning of that V inquired the doctor 
" I think it is a very happy allusion." 

" I dont see any allusion whatever," said the critic. 

" Don't you see the poet alluded to the stars in the milky 
way, and says, therefore, 'The stars I rceanf " 

" Bah ! bah ! doctor," exclaimed the critical captain ; " you 
are in one of your quizzing- moods to-night, and 'tis in vain to 
expect a serious answer from you." He turned on his heel as 
he spoke, and went away. 

" Moriarty, you know, Miss Dawson, is a man who affects 
a horror of puns, and therefore I always punish him with as 
many as I can," said the doctor, who was left by Moriarty's 
sudden pique to the enjoyment of a pleasant chat with Fanny, 
and he was sorry when the hour arrived which disturbed 
it by the breaking up of the party and the departure of the 


When the widow Rooney was forcibly ejected from the 
house of Mrs. James Casey and found that Andy was not the 
possesso) of that lady's charms, she posted off to Neck-or- 
INotbitig Hall, to hear the full and true account of the trans- 
action from Andy himself. On arriving at the old iron gate 
and pulling the loud bell, she was spoken to through the bars 
by the savage old janitor and told to " go out o' that." Mrs. 
Piooney thought fate was using her hard in decreeing she was 
to receive denial at every door, and endeavoured to obtain a 
parley with the gate-keeper, to which he seemed no way in- 

" My name's Rooney, sir ?'' 

" There's plenty bad o' the name," was the civil rejoinder. 

" And my son's in Squire O'Grady's sarvice, sir." 

" Db — you're the mother of the beauty we call Handy, eh 1' 

'' Yis, sir." 

" Well, he left the sarricc yistherday." 


" I* it lost the placo ?" 

" Yis." 

" Oh dear ! Ah, sir, let me up to the nouse and spake to his 
nonour, and maybe he'll take back the boy." 

" He doesn't want any more servants at all — for he's dead." 

" Is it Squire O'Grady dead V 

" Ave — did you never hear of a dead Squire before ?" 

" What did he die of, sir ?" 

" Find out," said the sulky brute, walking back into his 

It was true — the renowned O'Grady was no more. The 
fever which had set in from his " broiled bones," which he 
mould have in spite of anybody, was found difficult of abate- 
ment ; and the impossibility of keeping him quiet, and his tits 
of passion, and consequent fresh supplies of " broiled bones," 
rendered the malady unmanageable ; and the very day after 
Andy had left the house the fever took a bad turn, and in four- 
and-twenty hours the stormy O'Grady was at peace. 

What a sudden change fell upon the house! All the 
wedding paraphernalia which had been brought down lay 
neglected in the rooms where it had been the object of the 
preceding 1 day's admiration. The deep, absorbi/ig, silent grief 
of the wife — the more audible sorrow of the girls — the subdued 
wildness of the reckless boys as they trod silently past the 
chamber where they no longer might dread reproof for their 
noise, all this was less touching than the eftect the event haa 
upon the old dowager mother. While the senses of others 
were stunned by the blow, her's became awakened by the 
shock ; all her absurd aberration passed away, and she sat in 
intellectual self-possession, by the side of her son's death-bed, 
which she never left until he was laid in his coffin. He wad 
the first and last of her sons. She had now none but grand- 
children to look upon — the intermediate generation had passed 
away, and the gap yawned fearfully before her. It restored 
her, for the time, perfectly to her senses ; and she gave th<j 
necessary directions on the melancholy occasion, and super- 
intended all the sad ceremonials befitting the time, with a calm 
and dijrnified resignation which impressed all around her with 
wonder and respect. 

Superadded to the dismay which the death of the head of 
a family produces was the terrible fear which existed that 
O'Grady 's body would be seized for debt — a barbarous pra tice, 
which, shame to say, is still permitted. This fear made great 
precaution necessary to pre-ent persons approaching the ouse, 
and accounts for the extra gruffness of the gate porter. The 
wild bod3 r -guard of the wild chief was on doubly active duty ; 

316 UA>'DY ANDY 

and after four-and-twenty hours had passed over the reckless 
boys, the interest they took in sharing and directing this watch 
and ward seemed to outweigh all sorrowful consideration for 
the death of their father. As for Gustavus, the consciousness 
of being now the master of Neck-or-Nothing Hall was ap- 
parent in a boy not yet fifteen ; and not only in himself, but 
in the grey-headed retainers about him, this might be seen : 
there was a shade more of deference — the boy was merged in 
" the young master." But we must leave the house of mourn- 
ing for the present, and follow the widow Kooney, who, as she 
tramped her way homeward, was increasing in hideousness of 
visage every hour. Her nose was twice its usual dimensions, 
and one eye was perfectly useless in showing her the road. 
At last, however, as evening was closing, she reached her cabin, 
and there was Andy, arrived before her and telling Oonah, his 
cousin, all his misadventures of the preceding day. 

The history was stopped for a while by their mutual ex- 
planations and condolences with Mrs. Rooney, on the " cruel 
way her poor face was used." 

" And who done it all V said Oonah. 

" Who but that born divil, Matty Dwyer — and sure they 
towld me you were married to her," said she to Andy. 

" So I was," said Andy, beginning the account of his mis- 
fortunes afresh to his mother, who from time to time would 
break in with indiscriminate maledictions on Andy, as well as 
his forsworn damsel ; and when the account was ended 
she poured out a torrent of abuse upon her unfortunate 
forsaken son, which riveted him to the floor in utter amaze- 

" I thought I'd get pity here, at all events," said poor 
Andy ; " but instead o' that it's the worst word and the hard- 
est name in your jaw you have for me." 

" And sarve you right, you dirty cur," said his mother. 
" I ran off like a fool when I heerd of your good fortune, 
and see the condition that baggage left me in — my teeth 
knocked in and my eye knocked out, arid all for your foolery, 
because you couldn't keep what you got." 

" Sure, mother, I tell you — " 

" Howld your tongue, you omadhaun ! And then I go to 
Squire O'Grady's to look for you, and there I hear you lost 
that place, too." 

" Faix, it's little loss," said Andy. 

" That's all you know about it, you goose ; you lose the 
place just when the man's dead and you'd have had a shuito' 
mouroin'.. Oh, you are the most misfortunate divil, Andy 
Kooney, this day in Ireland — why did T rear vou at al 1 ? " 

HaNDY ANDY. 317 

" Squire lr fch-udy dead !" said Andy, in surprise and aba 
with regret for his late master. 

" Yis — and you've lost the mournin' — augh'-" 

" Oh, the poor Squire !" said Andy. 

" The iligunt new clothes 1" grumbled Mrs. Rooney. *• And 
then luck tumbles into your way such as man never had j 
without a place, or a rap to bless yourself with, you get a rich 
man's daughter for your wife, and you let her slip through 
your fingers." 

" How could I help it i" said Andy. 

" Augh ! — you bothered the job just the way you do every- 
thing," said his mother. 

" Sure I was civil spoken to her." 

" Augh !" said his mother. 

" And took no liberty." 

" You goose 1" 

" And called her Miss." 

" Oh, indeed you missed it altogether." 

" And said I wasn't desarvin' of her." 

" That was thrue — but you should not have iowld her so. 
Make a woman think you're betther than her, and she'll like 

" And sure, when I endayvoured to make myself agreeable 
to her—" 

"Endayvoured!" repeated the old woman contemptuously. 
"Endayvoured, indeed! Why didn't you make yourself 
agreeable at once, you poor dirty goose? — no, but you went 
sneaking about it — I know as well as if I was looking at you — 
you went sneakin' and snivelin' until the girl took a disgust to 
you ; for there's nothing a woman despise? so much as shilly- 

" Sure, you won't hear my defince," said Andy. 

" Oh, indeed you're betther at defince than attack," said his 

" Sure, the first little civil'ty I wanted to pay to her, she 
took up the three-legged stool to me." 

" The divil mend you ! And what civil'ty did you offer 

"I made a grab at her cap, and I thought she'd have 
brained me." 

Oonah set up such a shout of laughter at Andy's notion oi 
civility to a girl, that the conversation was stopped for some 
time, and her aunt remonstrated with her at her want of com 
mon sense ; or, as she said, hadn't she " more decency than to 
laugh at the poor fool's nonsense 1" 

" What could I do affen the three-legged stool'" said Auiiir 


" Where was your 'Own legs, and your own arms, and your 
own eyes, and your own tongue ? — eh V 

" And sure I tell you it was all ready conthrived, and Jame; 
Casey was sent for, and came." 

" Yis," said the mother, "but not ford long- time, youtowld 
me yourself ; and what were you doing all that time? Sure, 
supposing you wor only a new acquaintance, any man worth 
a day's mate would have discoorsed her over in the time and 
made her sinsible he was the best of husbands.' 7 

"I tell you she wouldn't let me have her ear at all," said 

" Nor her cap either/' said Oonah, laughing. 

"And then Jim Casey kem." 

" And why did you let him in ?" 

" It was she let him in, I tell you," 

" And why did you let her 1 He was on the wrong side of 
the door — that's the outside; and you on the right — that's the 
inside ; and it was your house, and she was your wife, and you 
were her masther, and you had the rights of the church, and 
the rights of the law, and all the rights on your side ; barrin' 
right rayson — that you never had ; and sure without that, 
what's the use of all the other rights in the world ?" 

" Sure, hadn't he his friends, sthrong, outside 2" 

" No matther, if the door wasn't opened to them, for then 
you would have had a stronger friend than any o' them present 
among them.'' 

" Who ?" inquired Andy. 

*' The hangman" answered his mother ; " for breaking 
doors is hanging matther ; and I say the presence of the hang- 
man's always before people when they have such a job to do, 
and makes them think twice sometimes before they smash 
once ; and so you had only to keep one woman's hands quiet." 

" Faix, some of them would smash a door as soon as not," 
said Andy. 

" Well, then, you'd have the satisfaction of hanging them," 
said the mother, "and that would be some consolation. But 
even as it is, I'll have law for it — I will — for the property 
i3 your's, any how, though the girl is gone — and indeed a 
brazen baggage she is, and is mighty heavy in tlie hand. Oh, 
my poor eye ! — it's like a coal of fire — but sure it was worth 
the risk living with her for the sake of the puny property. 
And sure I was thinkin' what a pleasure it would be living with 
you, and tachin' your wife housekeeping and bringing up the 
young turkeys and the childhre — but, och hone, you'll never do 
a bit o* good, you that got sitch careful bringin' up, Andy 
Rooney I Didn't I tache you manners, you dirty hanginbone 


blackguard ? Didn't I tache you your blessed religion P — may 
the divil sweep you ! Did I ever prevent you from sharing the 
lavings of the pratees with the pigP — and didn't you often 
clane out the pot with him ? and you're no good afther all. I've 
turned my honest penny by the pig, but I'll never make my 
money of you, Andy llooney !" 

There were some minutes' silence after this eloquent out- 
break of Andy's mother, which was broken at last by Andy 
uttering a long sigh and an ejaculation. 

" Och ! it's a tine thing to be a gintleman," said Andy. 

" Cock you up !" said his mother. " Maybe it's a gintleman 
you want to be ; what puts that in your head, you omadhawn !" 

" Why, because a gintleman has no hardships, compared 
with one of uz. Sure, if a gintleman was marri'd his wife 
wouldn't be tuk off from him the way mine was." 

'Tsot so soon, maybe," said the mother, drily. 

" And if a gintleman brakes a horse's heart, he's only a 
' bowld rider,' while a poor sarvant is a ' careless blackguard' 
for only taking a sweat out of him. If a gintleman dlirinks 
till he can't see a hole in a laddher, he's only ' fresh,' — but 
' dhrunk' is the word for a poor man. And if a gintleman 
kicks up a row, he's a ' fine sperited fellow,' while a poor man 
is a ' disordherly vagabone' for the same ; and the Justice axe3 
the one to dinner and sends th' other to jail. Oh, faix, the law 
is a dainty lady ; she takes people by the hand who can afford 
to wear gloves, but ople with brown fists must keep theii 

" I often remark," said his mother, "that fools spake mighty 
sinsible betimes ; but their wisdom all goes with their gab. 
Why didn't you take a betther grip of your luck when you had 
it ? You're wishing you wor a gintleman, and yet when you 
had the best part of a gintleman (the property, I mane) put 
into your way, you let it slip through your fingers ; and afther 
lettir? a fellow take a rich wife from you and turn you out of 
your own' house, you sit down on a stool there, and begin to 
rcish, indeed! — you sneakin' fool — wish, indeed! Och! if you 
wish with one band, and wash with th' other, which will be 
clane first— «hP* 

'' What could I do agen eight?" asked Andy. 

" Why did you let them in, I say again V said the mother, 

" oure the blame wasn't with me," said Andy, " but with — " 

" Whisht, whisht, you goose !" said his mother. " Av course 
you'll blame every one and everything but yourself— ' The 
luting horse blames the saddle.' " 

" WeU, maybe it's all for the best," said Andy, " afther all." 


'' Augh, howld your tongue !" 

" And if it wasn!t to be, how could it be V 

" Listen to him !" 

" And Providence is over us all." 

"Oh! yis!" said the mother. "When fools make mistakes 
they lay the blame on Providence. How have you the inci- 
dence to talk o' Providence in that manner ? Til tell you 
where the Providence was. Providence sent you to Jack 
Dwyer's, and kep Jim Casey away, and put the anger into 
owld Jack's heart — that's what the Providence did ! — and made 
the opening for you to spake up, and gave you a wife— a wife 
with property ! Ah, there's where the Providence was ! — and 
you were the masther of a snug house — that was Providence ! 
And wouldn't myself have been the one to be helping you in 
the farm — rearing the powlts, milkin' the cow, makin' tha 
iligant butther, with lavings of butthermilk for the pigs — the 
sow thriving, and the cocks and hens cheering your heart with 
their cacklin' — the hank o' yarn on the wheel, and a hank of 
ingins up the chimbley — oh ! there's where the Providence 
would have been — that would have been Providence indeed !— 
but never tell me that Providence turned you out of the house; 
thai was your own goostherumfoodle." 

" Can't he take the law o' them, aunt?" inquired Oonah. 

" To be sure he can — and shall, too," said the mother. " I'll 
be off to 'torney Murphy to-morrow ; I'll pursue her for my 
eye, and Andy for the property, and I'll put them all in Chan- 
cery, the villains !" 

" It's Newgate they ought to be put in," said Andy. 

"Tut, you fool, Chancery is worse than Newgate: for 
people sometimes get out of Newgate but they never get out 
of Chancery, I hear." 

As Mrs. Rooney spoke, the latch of the door was raised, 
and a miserably clad woman entered, closed the door imme- 
diately after her, and placed the bar against it. The action 
attracted the attention of all the inmates of the house, for 
the doors of the peasantry are universally "left on the 
iatch," and never secured against intrusion until the family go 
to bed. 

" God save all here !" said the woman, as she approached 
the fire. 

"Oh, is that you, 1 Jagged Nance-?" said Mrs. Rooney; for 
that was the unenviable but descriptive title the new comer 
was known by ; and though she knew it for her soubriquet, yet 
she also knew Mrs. Rooney would not call her by it if she 
were not in an ill temper, so she began humbly to explain the 
cause of her visit, when Mrs. Rooney broke in gruffly— 


"Oh, you always make out a good rayson for coming ; but 
we have nothing for you to-night." 

"Throth, you do me wrong," said the beggar, "if you think 
I came shooting.* It's only to keep harm from the innocent 
jirl here." 

"Arrah, what harm would happen her, woman?" returned 
(he widow, savagely, rendered more morose by the humble 
bearing of her against whom she directed her severity; as if 
she gut more angry the less the poor creature would give her 
cause to justify her harshness. "Isn't she undher my roof 
here ? " 

"Cut how long may she be left there?" asked the woman, 

" What do you mane, woman ? " 

" I mane there's a plan to carry her off from you to- 

Oonah grew pale with true terror, and the widow screeched, 
after the more approved manner of elderly ladies making 
believe they are very much shocked, till Nance reminded her 
that crying would do no good, and that it was requisite to 
make some preparation against the approaching danger. Vari- 
ous plans were hastily suggested, and as hastily relinquished, 
till Xanee advised a measure which was deemed the best. It 
was to dress Andy in female attire and let him be carried off 
In place of the girl. Andy roared with laughter at the notion 
of being made a girl of, and said the trick would instantly be 
seen through. 

"Xot if you act your part well; just keep down the 
gi-Tgle, jewel, and put on a moderate phillelew, and do the 
tiling nice and steady, and you'll be the saving of your cousin 

" You may deceive them with the dhress ; and / may do a 
bit of a small shilLo, like a colleen in disthress, and that's all 
very well," said Andy, " as far as seeing and hearing goes ; 
but when they come to grip me, sure they'll find out in a 

" Wl-'H stuff you out well with rags and sthraw, and 
they'll never know the differ — besides, -remember the fellow 
that wants a girl never comes for her himself,")" but sends his 
frien Is for her, and they won't know the differ — besides, 
they're all dhrunk." 

"How do you know?" 

" Because they're always dhrunk — that same crew ; and if 

• Going on chance here and there, to pick up what one can. 
t This is muitly the case. 


they're not dhrunk to-night, its the first time in their liyea 
they ever were sober. So make haste, now, and put off your 
coat, till we make a purty young colleen out o' you." 

It occurred now to the widow that it was a service of great 
danger Andy was called on to perform ; and with all her 
abuse of " omadhaun," she did not like the notion of putting 
him in the way of losing his life, perhaps. 

" They'll murdher the boy, maybe, when they find out th 
chate," said the widow. 

" Not a bit," said Nance. 

" And suppose they did," said Andy, " I'd rather die, sur 
than the disgrace should fall upon Oonah, there." 

" God bless you, Andy, dear!" said Oonah. "Sure, yog 
have the kind heart, anyhow ; but I wouldn't for the world 
hurt or harm should come to you on my account." 

"Oh, don't be afeardl" said Andy cheerily; " divil a hair 
I value all they can do; so dhress me up at once."' 

After some more objections on the part of his mother, which 
Andy overruled, the women all joined in making up Andy into 
as tempting an imitation of feminality as they could contrive ; 
but to bestow the roundness of outline on the angular form of 
Andy was no easy matter, and required more rags than the 
house afforded, so some straw was indispensable, which the 
pig's bed only could supply. In the midst of their fears, the 
women could not help laughing as they effected some likeness 
to their own forms, with their stuffing and padding ; but to 
carry off the width of Andy's shoulders required a very ample 
and voluptuous outline indeed, and Andy could not help wish- 
ing the straw was a little sweeter which they were packing 
under his nose. At last, however, after soaping down his 
straggling hair on his forehead, and tying a bonnet upon hia 
head to shade his face as much as possible, the disguise was 
completed, and the next move was to put Oonah in a place of 

" Get upon the hurdle in the corner, under the thatch," said 

" Oh, I'd be afeard o' my life to stay in the house at ail." 

" You'd be safe enough, I tell you," said Nance ; " for once 
they see that fine young woman there," pointing to Andy, 
and laughing, " they'll be satisfied with the lob we've mad4 
for them." 

Oonah still expressed her fear of remaining in the 

" Then hide in the pratee trench, behind the house." 

" That's better," said Oonah. 


"And now I must be going," said hance, •' k» they 
must not see ine when they come." 

" Oli, don't leave me Nance, dear," cried Oonah, " for I'm 
sure I'll faint with the fright when I hear them coming, if 
gome one is not with me." 

Nance yielded to Oonah's fears and entreaties and with 
many a blessing and boundless thanks for the beggar-woman's 
kindness, Oonah led the way to the little potato garden at 
the back of the house, and there the women squatted them- 
selves in one of the trenches and awaited the impending event. 

It was not long in arriving. The tramp of approaching 
horses at a sharp pace rang through the stillness of the night, 
and the wemen, crouching flat beneath the overspreading 
branches of the potato tops, lay breathless in the bottom of the 
trench, as the riders came up to the widow's cottage and 
entered. There they found the widow and her pseudo niece 
sitting at the tire; and three drunken vagabonds, for the fourth 
was holding the horses outside, cut some fantastic capers round 
the cabin, and making a mock obeisance to the widow, the 
spokesman addressed her with — 

'' Your sarvant, ma'am ! '' 

" Who are yiz at all, gintleman, that comes to my place at 
this time o'night, and what's your business?" 

" We want the loan o' that young woman there, ma'am, 
Bald the ruffian. 

Andy and his mother both uttered small squalls. 

' ; And as for who we are, ma'am, we're the blessed society of 
Saint Joseph, ma'am — our coat of arms is two heads upon one 
pillow, and our motty, 'Who's afraid? — Hurroo!'" shouted 
the savage, and he twirled his stick and cut another caper. 
Then ccminir up to Andy, he addressed him as " young woman," 
and said there was a fine strapping fellow whose heart was 
breaking till he " rowled her in his arms." 

Andy and the mother both acted their parts very well. He 
rushed to the arms of the old woman for protection, and 
screeched small, while the widow shouted " millia murther!" 
at the top of her voice, and did not give up her hold of the make- 
believe young woman until her cap was torn half off, and her 
hair streamed about her face. She called on all the saints in the 
calendar, as she knelt in the middle of the floor and rocked to 
and fro, with her clasped hands raised to heaven, calling down 
curses on the " villians and robbers " that were tearing her 
child from htr, while they threatened to stop her breath alto- 
gether if she did not make less noise, and in the midst of the 
uproar dragged off Andy, whose struggles and despair might 
have eicitecl the suspicion of soberer men. They lifted him up 


on a stout horse, in front of the most powerful rn«n of the parly, 
who gripped Andy hard round the middle and pushed his horse 
to a hand gallop, followed by the rest of the party. The proxi. 
mity of Andy to his cavaliero made the latter sensible to the bad 
odour of the pig's bed, which formed Andy's luxurious bust and 
bustle ; but he attributed the unsavory scent to a bad breath on 
the lady's part, and would sometimes address his charge 
thus : — 

" Young woman, if you plaze, would you turn your face th' 
other way ;" then in a side soliloquy, " By Jaker, I wondherat 
Jack's taste — she's a fine lump of a girl, but her breath is mur- 
dher intirely — phew — young woman, turn away your face, .or 
by this and that I'll fall off the horse. I've heerd of a bad 
breath that might knock a man down, but I never met it til) 
now. Oh, murdher ! it's worse it's growin' — I suppose 'tis thi 
bumpin' she's gettin'that shakes the breath out of her sthrong— 
oh, there it is again — phew!" 

It was as well, perhaps, for the prosecution of the deceit, 
that the distaste the fellow conceived for his charge prevented 
any closer approaches to Andy's visage, which might have dis- 
pelled the illusion under which he still pushed forward to the 
hills and bumped poor Andy towards the termination of his 
ride. Keeping a sharp look out as he went along, Andy soon 
was able to perceive they were making for that wild part of the 
hills where he had discovered the private still on the night of 
his temporary fright and imaginary rencontre with the giants, 
and the conversation he partly overheard all recurred to him, 
and he saw at once that Oonah was the person alluded to, whose 
name he could not catch, a circumstance that cost him many a 
conjecture in the interim. This gave him a clue to the persons 
into whose power he was about to fall, after having so far 
defeated their scheme, and he saw he should have to deal with 
very desperate and lawless parties. Remembering, more- 
over, the herculean frame of the innamorato, he calculated on 
an awful thrashing as the smallest penalty he should have to 
pay for deceiving him, but was, nevertheless, determined to go 
through the adventure with a good heart, to make deceit serve 
his turn as long as he might, and at the last, if necessary, to 
make the best fight he could. 

As it happened, luck favoured Andy in his adventure, for 
the hero of the blunderbuss (and he, it will be remembered, was 
the love-sick gentleman) drank profusely on the night in ques- 
tion, quaffing deep potations to the health of his Oonah, wishing 
luck to his friends and speed to their horses, and every now and 
then ascending the ladder from the cave, and looking out for 
the approach of the party. On one of these occauions, from thf 


unsteadiness of the ladder, or himself, or perhap3 both, his foot 
Bpped, frrid he came to the ground with a heavy fall, in which 
his head received so severe a blow that he became insensible, 
and it was some time before his sister, who was an inhabitant of 
this den, could restore him to consciousness. This she did, 
however, and the savage recovered all the senses the whisky 
bad left him ; but still the stunning effect of the fall cooled his 
courage considerably, and, as it were, " bothered " him so, that 
lie felt much less of the "gallant gay Lothario" than he had 
done before the accident. 

The tramp of horses was heard overhead ere long, and Shan 
More, or Big John, as the Hercules was called, told Bridget to 
go up to " the darlin'," and help her down. 

" For that's a blackguard laddher," said he ; it turned undher 
me like an eel, bad luck to it! — tell her I'd go up myself, only 
the ground is slipping from undher me — and the laddher — " 

Bridget went off, leaving Jack growling forth anathemas 
asrainst the ground and the ladder, and returned speedily with 
the mock-lady and her attendant squires. 

"Oh, my jewel!'' roared Jack, as he caught sight of his 
prize. He scrambled up on his legs, and made a rush at Andy, 
who imitated a woman's scream and fright at the expected 
embrace, but it was with much greater difficulty he suppressed 
his laughter at the headlong fall with which Big Jack plunged 
his head into a heap of turf,* and hugged a sack of malt which 
lay beside it. 

Andy endeavoured to overcome the provocation to merriment 
by screeching ; and as Bridget caught the sound of this ten- 
dency towards laughter between the screams, she thought it 
was the commencement of a fit of hysterics, and it accounted all 
the better for Andy's extravagant antics. 

"Oh, the craythur is frightened out of her life!" said 
Bridget. " Leave her to me,'' said she to the men. "There, 
jewel machree!" she continued to Andy, soothingly, "don't 
take on you that way — don't be afeerd, you're among friends — 
Jack is only dhrunk dhrinking your health, darlin', but he 
adores vou." Andy screeched. 

"But don't be afeerd, you'll be thrated tender, ani he'll 
marry you, darlin', like an honest woman !" 

Andy squalled. 

" But not to-night, jewel — don't be frightened." 

Andy gave a heavy sob at the respite. 

" Boys, will you lift Jack out o' the turf, and carry him up 
into the air, 'twill be good for bim, and this da cent girl will 
sleep with me to night.'' 

• Peat. 


Andy couldn't resist a lau^h at this, and Bridget feared the 
girl was going off into hysterics again. 

" Aisy, dear — aisy — sure you'll be safe with me." 

" Ow ! ow ! ow ! " shouted Andy. 

" Oh, murther ! " cried Bridget, " the sterricks will be the 
death of her! You blackguards you frightened her coming up 
here, I'm sure." 

The men swore they behaved in the genteelest manner. 

" Well, take away Jack, and the girl shall have share of my 
bed for this night." 

Andy shook internally with laughter. 

"Dear, dear, how she thrimbles !" cried Bridget, "Don't 
be so frightful, lanna machrcc — there, now — they're taking 
Jack away, and you're alone with myself and will have a nice 

The men all the time were removing Shan More to upper 
air ; and the last sounds they heard as they left the cave were 
the coaxing tones of Bridget's voice, inviting Andy, in the 
softest words, to go to bed. 


The workshops of Neck-or-nothing Hall rang with the 
sounds of occupation for two days after the demise of its former 
master. The hoarse grating sound of the saw, the whistling 
of the plice and the stroke of the mallet denoted the presence 
of the carpenter; and the sharper clink of a hammer, told of old 
Fogy the family "milliner "• being at work ; but it was not on 
millinery Fogy was now employed, though neither was it legi- 
timate tinker's work. He was scrolling out with his shears, 
and beating into form, a plate of tin, to serve for the shield on 
O'G-rady's coffin, which was to record his name, age, and day 01 
departure ; and this was the second plate on which the old mnn 
worked, for one was already finished in the comer. Why are 
there two coffin-plates ? Enter the carpenter's shop, and you 
will see the answer in two coffins the carpenter has nearly com- 
plete d. But why two coffins for one death? Listen, reader to 
i. bit of Irish strategy. 

It has been stated that an apprehension was entertained of a 


seizure of the inanimate body of O'Grady for the debts it had 
contracted in life, and the harpy nature of the money-lender 
from whom this movement was dreaded warranted the fear. 
Had O'Grady been popular, such a measure on the part of a 
cruel creditor might have been defied, as the surrounding pea- 
pantry would have risen en masse to prevent it ; but the hostile 
position in which he had placed himself towards the people 
alienated the natural affection they are born with for their chiefs, 
and any partial defence the few fierce retainers whom in- 
dividual interest had attached to him could have made might 
have been insufficient ; therefore, to save his father's remains 
from the pollution (as the son considered) of a bailiff's touch, 
Gustavus determined to achieve by stratagem what he could 
not accomplish by force, and had two coffins constructed, the 
one to be tilled with stones and straw, and sent out by the front 
entrance with all the demonstration of a real funeral, and be 
given up to the attack it was feared would be made upon it ; 
while the other, put to its legitimate use, should be placed on a 
raft, and floated down the river to an ancient burial-ground 
which lay some miles below on the opposite bank. A facility 
for this was afforded by a branch of the river running up into 
the domain, as it will be remembered ; and the scene of the 
bearish freaks played upon Furlong waa to witness a trick of a 
more serious nature. 

While all these preparations were going forward, the 
"waking" was kept up in all the barbarous style of old times; 
eating and drinking in profusion went on in the house, and the 
kitchen of the hall rang with joviality. The feats of sports 
and arms of the man who had passed away were lauded, and 
his comparative achievements with those of his progenitors 
gave rise to many a stirring anecdote: and bursts of bar- 
barous exultation, or more barbarous merriment, rang in the 
hou.-e of death. There was no lack of whisky to fire the 
brains of these revellers, for the standard of the measurement 
of family grandeur was, too often, a liquid one in Ireland, 
even so recently as the time we speak of; and the dozens of 
wine wasted during the life it helped to shorten, and the post- 
humous gallons consumed in toasting to the memory of the 
departed, were among the cherished remembrances of here- 
ditary honour. " There were two hogsheads of whisky drank 
»t my father's wake I " was but a moderate boast of n true 
Irish squire, fifty years ago. 

Ana now the last night of the wake approached, and the 
retainers thronged to honour the obsequies of their departed chief 
with an increased enthusiasm, which rose in proportion as the 
whisky got low; and songs in praise of thei r yrewnt occu- 


pation — that is, getting drunk — rang merrily round, and the 
sports of the field and the sorrows and joys of love resounded; 
in short, the ruling passions of life figured in rhyme and music 
in honour of this occasion of death — and as death is the maker 
of widows, a very animated discussion on the subject of widow- 
hood arose, which afforded great ecope for the rustic wits, and 
was crowned by the song of " Widow Machree " being uni- 
versally called for by the company ; and a fine-looking fellow 
with a merry eye and large white teeth, which he amply dis- 
played by a wide mouth, poured forth in cheery tones a 
pretty lively air which suited well the humourous spirit of the 
words: — 

SSibofo piatbm 

'Widow machree, it's no wonder you frown, 

Och hone! widow machree: 
Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown. 

Oehhone! widow machree. 
How altered your air, 
With that close cap you wear — 
"lis destroying your hair 

Which should he flowing free: 
Be no longer a churl 
Of its black silken curl, 

Oehhone! widow machree! 

" Widow machree, now the summer Is come, 

Oehhone! widow machree; 
When everything smiles, should a beauty look glnmP 

"Och hone ! widow machree. 
See the birds go in pairs, 
And the rabbits and hares — 
Why even the bears 

Now in couples agree •, 
And the mute little fish, 
Though they can't spake, they wish, 

Och hone! widow machree. 

" Widow machree, and when winter comes b\, 
Oehhone! widow machree, 
To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, 
Oehhone! widow machree. 


Sore the shovel and tongs 
To each other belongs, 
And the kittle sings songs 

Full of family glee, 
While alone with your cup, 
Like a hermit you sup — 

Och Kme! widow machree 


• And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld, 

Och hone! widow machree, 
But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
With such sins on your head, 
Sure your peace would be fled, 
Could you sleep in your bed, 

Without thinking to see 
Some ghost or some sprite, 
That would wake you each night, 

Crying, ' Och hone ! widow machree.' 

•' Then take my advice, darling widow machree, 

Och hone! widow machree. 
And with my advice, faith I wish you'd take me, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
You'd have me to desire 
Then to sit by the fire; 
And sure hope is no liar 

In whispering to me 
That the ghosts would depart, 
When you'd me near your heart, 

Och hone! widow machree." 

The singer was honoured with around of applause, and hi3 
challenge for another lay was readily answered, and mirth and 
music rilled the night and ushered in the dawn of the day 
which was to witness the melancholy sight of the master of 
on ample mansion being made the tenant of the " narrow 

In the evening of that day, however, the wail rose loud and 
luii;r ; the mirth which "the waking" permits had passed 
away, and the ulican, or funeral cry, told that the lifeless chief 
was being borne from his hall. That wild cry was heard even 
by the party who were waiting to make their horrid seizure, 
and for that party, the stone-laden coffin was sent with a 
retinue of mourners through the old iron-gate of the principal 
entrance, while the mortal remains were borne by a smaller 
party to the river inlet and placed on the raft. Half an hour 
had witnessed a sham fight on the part of O'Grady's people 



with the bailiffs and their followers, who made the seizure they 
intended, and locked up their prize in an old barn to which it 
had been conveyed, until some engagement on the part of the 
heir should liberate it ; while the aforesaid heir, as soon as the 
shadows of evening had shrouded the river in obscurity, con- 
veyed the remains, which the myrmidons of the law fancied 
they possessed, to its quiet and lonely resting-place. The rift 
was taken in tow by a boat carrying two of the boys, and 
pulled by four lusty retainers of the departed chief, while 
Gustavus himself stood on the raft, astride over the coffin, and 
i with an eel spear, which had afforded him many a day's sport, 
1 performed the melancholy task of guiding it. It was a 
strangely painful yet beautiful sight to behold the gracefu. 
figure of the fine boy engaged in this last sad duty; with 
dexterous energy he plied his spear, now on this side and now 
on that, directing the course of the rafc, or clearing it from the 
flaggers which interrupted its passage through the narrow 
inlet. This duty he had to attend to for some time, even after 
leaving the little inlet, for the river was much overgrown with 
flaggers at this point, and the increasing darkness made the 
task more difficult. 

In the midst of all this action not one word was spoken ; 
even the sturdy boatmen were mute, and the fall of the oar 
in the rowlock, the plash of the water and the crushing sound 
of the yielding rushes as the "watery-bier" made its way 
through them were the only sounds which broke the silence. 
Still Gustavus betrayed no emotion ; but by the time they 
reached the open stream, and that his personal exertion was 
no longer required, a change came over him. It was night,— 
the measured beat of the oars sounded like a knell to him— 
there was darkness above him and death below, and he sank 
down upon the coffin, and plunging his face passionately between 
his hands, he wept bitterly. Sad were the thoughts that 
oppressed the brain and wrung the heart of the high-spirited 
boy. He felt that his dead father was escaping, as it were to 
the grave, — that even death did not terminate the consequences 
of an ill-spent life. He felt like a thief in the night, even in 
the execution of his own stratagem, and the bitter thoughts 01 
that sad and solemn time wrought a potent spell over aftei 
years, — that one hour of misery and disgrace influenced the 
entire < i a future life. 

On a small hill overhanging the river was the ruin of 
an anc ent early temple of Christianity, and to its surround- 
ing burial-ground a few of the retainers had been despatched 
to prepare a grave. They were engaged in this task by the 
light of a torch made of bog-pine^ when the flicker of th» 


flume attracted the eye of a horseman who was riding slowly 
nlonjr the neighbouring 1 road. Wondering what could be the of light in such a place, he leaped the adjoining fence 
and rode up to the grave-yard. 

" What are you doing here?" he said to the labourers. 
They paused and looked up, and the flash of the torch fell 
upon the features of Edward O'Connor. 

" We're finishing your work ! " said one of the men with 
malicious earnestness. 

" My work ? " repeated Edward. 

"Yes," returned the man, more sternly than before — 
" this i9 the grave of O'Grady." 

The words went like an ice-bolt through Edward's heart 
and even by the torchlight the tormentor could see his victim 
grew livid. 

The fellow who wounded so deeply one so generally 
beloved as Edward O'Connor was a thorough ruffian. Hia 
answer to Edward's query sprang not from love of O'Grady, 
nor abhorrence of taking human life, but from the opportunity 
of retort which the occasion offered upon one who had once 
checked him in an act of brutality. 

Yet Edward O'Connor could not reply — it was a home 
thrust. The death of O'Grady had weighed heavily upon 
him ; for though O'Grady's wound had been given in honourable 
combat, provoked by his own fury, and not producing imme- 
diate death ; though that death had supervened upon the 
subsequent intractability of the patient; yet the fact that 
O'Grady had never been " up and doing " since the dueL 
tended to give the impression that his wound was the remote 
if not the immediate cause of his death, and this circumstance 
weighed heavily on Edward's spirits. His friends told him he 
felt over keenly upon the subject, and that no one but himself 
could entertain a question of his total innocence of O'Grady's 
death ; but when from the lips of a common peasant he got the 
answer he did, and that beside the grave of his adversary, is 
will not be wondered at that he reeled in his saddle. A cold 
shivering sickness came over him, and to avoid falling he 
alighted and leaned for support against his horse, which 
Etooped, when freed from the restraint of the rein, to browse 
on the rank verdure ; and for a moment Edward envied the 
unconsciousness of the animal against which he leaned. He 
pressed his forehead against the saddle, and from the depth of 
a bleeding heart came up an agonised exclamation. 

A gentle hand was laid on his shoulder as he spoke, aad 
turning round, he beheld Mr. Bermingham. 

" What brings you here ? " said the clersrvman. 


" Accident," answered Edward. " But why should I say 
accident 1 — It is by a higher authority and a better — it is the 
will of Heaven. It is meant as a bitter lesson to human pride : 
we make for ourselves laws of honour, and forget the laws of 
God ! " 

u Be calm, my young friend," said the worthy pastor ; " I 
■jannot wonder you feel deeply — hut command yourself.'' He 
pressed Edward's hand as he spoke and left him, for he knew 
that an agony so keen is not benefitted by companionship. 

Mr. Bermingham was there by appointment to perform the 
burial service, and he had not left Edward's side many 
minutes when a long wild whistle from the waters announced 
the arrival of the boat and raft, and the retainers ran down to 
the river, leaving the pine-torch stuck in the upturned earth, 
waving its warm blaze over the cold grave. During the 
interval which ensued between the departure of the men and 
their reappearance, bearing the body to its last resting place, 
Mr. Bermingham spoke with Edward O'Connor, and soothed 
him into a more tranquil bearing. When the coffin came 
within view he advanced to meet it and began the sublime 
burial-service, which he repeated most impressively. When it 
was over, the men commenced filling up the grave. As the 
clods fell upon the coffin, they smote the hearts of the dead 
man's children ; yet the boys stood upon the verge of the 
grave as long as a vestige of the tenement of their lost father 
could be seen ; but as soon as the coffin was hidden, they 
withdrew from the brink, and the younger boys, each taking 
hold of the hand of the eldest, seemed to imply the need of 
mutual dependence : — as if death had drawn cioser the bond 
of brotherhood. 

There was no sincerer mourner at that place than Edward 
O'Connor, who stood aloof, in respect for the feelings of the 
children of the departed man, till the grave was quite filled up, 
and all were about to leave the spot; but then his feelings 
overmastered him, and, impelled by a torrent of contending 
emotions, he rushed forward, and throwing himself on his 
knees before Gustavus, he held up his hands imploringly, 
and sobbed forth, " Eorgive me !" 

The astonished boy dre-w back. 

"Oh, forgive me!" repeated Edward — "I could not helf 
it — it was forced on me — it was — " 

As he struggled for utterance, even the rough retainers 
were touched, and one of them exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. O'Con- 
nor, it was a fair fight !" 

"There!" exclaimed Edward— "You hear it!— Oh, givf 
me your hand in forgiveness !" 


" I forgave you," said the boy, " but do not ask me to give 
you my hand to-night." 

" You are right," said Edward, springing to his feet — 
'' you are right — you are a noble fellow j and now, remem- 
ber my parting words, Gustavus : — Here, by the iside of your 
father's grave, I pledge you my soul that through life and 
till death, in all extremity, Edward O'Connor is your sworn 
and trusty friend." 


Whiib the foregoing scene of sadness took place in the 
lone churchyard, unholy watch was kept over the second 
coffin by the myrmidons of the law. The usurer who made 
the seizure had brought down from Dublin three of the most 
determined bailiffs from amongst the tribe, and to their care 
was committed the keeping of the supposed body in the old 
barn. Associated with these worthies were a couple of ill-con- 
ditioned country blackguards, who, for the sake of a bottle of 
whisky, would keep company with Old Nick himself, and who 
expected, moreover, to hear " a power o' news" from the 
" gentlemen" from Dublin, who in their turn did not object 
to have their guard strengthened, as their notions of a rescue 
in the country parts of Ireland were anything but agreeable. 
The night was cold, so, clearing away from one end of the 
barn the sheaves of corn with which it was stored, they made 
a turf fire, stretched themselves on a good shake-down of 
straw before the cheering blaze, and circulated among them 
the whisky, of which they had a good store. A tap at the 
door announced a new comer ; but the Dublin bailiffs fearing 
a surprise, hesitated to open to the knock until their country 
allies assured them it was a friend whose voice they recognised. 
The door was opened, and in walked Larry Hogan, to pick 
up his share of what was going, whatever it might be, 
saying — 

" I thought you wor for keeping me out altogether.'' 

" The gintlemin from Dublin was afeard of what they call 
a riskvn," (rescue) said the peasant, " till 1 told them 'twas a 

" Divil a riskya will come near you to-night," said Larry, 


" you may make your minds aisy about that, for the people 
doesn't care enough about his bones to get their own brokeiu 
savin' him, and no wondher. It's a lantherumswash bully he 
always was, quiet as he is now. And there you are, my bold 
squire," said he apostrophising the coffin which had been 
thrown on a heap of sheaves. " Faix, it's a good kitchen you 
kep' anyhow, whenever you had it to spind ; and indeed when you 
hadn't you spint it all the same, for the divil a much you cared 
how you got it ; but death has made you pay the reckoning 
at last — that thing that filly-officers call the debt o' nature 
must be paid, whatever else you may owe." 

" Why, it's as good as a sarmon to hear you," said one of 
the bailiffs. 

" Larry, sir, discourses illigant," said a peasant. 

"Tut, tut, tut," said Larry, with affected modesty: "it's 
/lot what I say, but I can tell you a thing that Docthor 
Growlin' put out an him more ncr a year ago, which was 
mighty cute. Scholars calls it an ' epithet of dissipation, 
which means getting a man's tombstone ready for him before 
he dies; and divil a more cutting thing was ever cut on a 
tombstone than the doctor's rhyme; this is it — 

' Here lies 0' Grady, that cantankerous creature, 
Who paid, as all must pay, the debt of nature; 
But, keeping to his general maxim still, 
Paid it — like other debts — against his wilL' "* 

'* What do you think o' that Goggins?" inquired one bailiff 
from the other ; " you're a judge o' po'thry." 

"It's sevare," answered Goggins, authoritatively; "but 
coorse. I wish you'd brile the rashers, I begin to feel the calls 
o' nature, as the poet says. ' 

This Mister Goggins was a character in his way. He had 
the greatest longing to be thought a poet, put execrable 
couplets together sometimes, and always talked as fine as he 
could ; and his mixture of sentimentality, with a large stock of 
blackguardism, produced a strange jumble. 

" The people here thought it nate, sir," said Larry. 

" Oh, very well for the country !" said Goggins ; but 
'twouldn't do for town." 

" Misther Goggings knows best," said the bailiff who first 
Epoke, " for he's a pote himself, and writes in the newspapers." 

" Oh, indeed 1" said Larry. 

" Yes," said Goggins, " sometimes I throw off little things 

* These bitter lines on a "bad pay," were written by a Dublin medical 
wit of high repute, of whom Dr. Growling is a prototype. 


for the newpapers. There's a friend of mine you see, a gen- 
tleman connected with the press, who is often in defficulties, 
and I give him a hint to keep out o' the way when he's in 
trouble, and he swears I have a genus for the muses, and en- 
courages me—" 

" Humph I" says Larry. 

"And puts my things in the paper, when he gets the 
editor's back turned, for the editor is a consaited chap that likes 
no one's po'thry but his own ; but never mind — if I ever get 
a writ against that chap, won't I sarve it !" 

" And I dar say some day you will have it agen him, sir," 
said Larry. 

" Sure of it, a'most," said Goggins ; " them litherary men is 
always in defficulties." 

" I wondher you'd be like them, then, and write at all," 
said Larry. 

" Oh, as for me, it's only by way of amusement; attached 
as I am to the legal profession, my time wouldn't permit ; but 
I have been infected by the company I kept. The living 
images that creeps over a man sometimes is irresistible, and you 
have no pace till you get them out o' your head." 

" Oh, indeed, they are very throublesome," says Larry, 
" and are the litherary gintlemen, sir, as you call them, mostly 
that way!" 

" To be sure ; it is that which makes a litherary man — his 
head is full — teems with creation, sir." 

" Dear, dear ! " said Larry. 

" And when once the itch of litherature comes over a man, 
nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen." 

" But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch 
any other way you can." 

" To be sure," said Goggins, " I have seen a litherary gen- 
tleman in a sponging-house do crack things on the wall with a 
Lit ef burnt stick, rather than be idle — theymust execute." 

" Ha ! " says Larry. 

" Sometimes, in all their poverty and difficulty, I envy the 
' fatal fatality,' as the poet says, of such men in catching ideas." 

" That's the genteel name for it," says Larrv. 

" Oh ! " exclaimed Goggins, enthusiastically, " I know the 
satisfaction of catching a man, but it's nothing at all compared 
to catching an idea. For the man, you see, can give bail, 
and get off, but the idea is your own for ever. And then a 
rhyme — when it has puzzled you all day, the pleasure you have 
in nabbing it at last ! " 

" Oh, it's poth'ry you're spakin' about," said Larry. 

"To be sure." said Goggins; " do you think I'd throw 


away my time on prose ? You're burning that bacon, 11m," 
6aid he to his sub. 

" Poethry, agen the world ! " continued he to Larry, " the 
Castilian sthraime for me ! — Hand us that whisky" — he put the 
bottle to his mouth and took a swig — " That's good — you do a 
bit of private here, I suspect," said he, with a wink, pointing tr 
the bottle. 
Larry returned a significant grin but said nothing. 

" Oh, don't be afraid o' me — I wouldn't 'peach" — 

" Sure it's agen the law, and you're a gintleman o' the law," 
said Larry. 

" That's no rule," said Goggins, "the Lord Chief Justice 
always goes to bed, they say, with six tumblers o' potteen 
under his belt ; and dhrink it myself." 

" Arrah, how do you get it ? " said Larry. 

"From a gentleman, a friend o' mine, in the Custom- 

" A-dad, that's quare," said Larry, laughing. 

"Oh, we see queer things, I tell you," said Goggins, "we 
gentlemen of tlie law." 

" To be sure you must," returned Larry ; " and mighty im- 
provin' it must be. Did you ever catch a thief, sir." 

" My good man you mistake my profession," said Goggins, 
proudly ; " we never have anything to do in the criminal line, 
that's much beneath us." 

"I ax your pardon, sir." 

" No offence — no offence " 

" But it must be mighty improvin', I think, ketching of 
thieves, and finding out their thricks and hidin' places, and the 
like ? " 

" Yes, yes," said Goggins, " good fun ; though I don't do it, 
I know all about it, and could tell queer things too." 

" Arrah, maybe you would, sir ? " said Larry. 

"Maybe I will, after we nibble some rashers — will you 
take share ? " 

" Musha, long life to you," said Larry, always willing to get 
whatever he could. A repast was now made, more resembling 
a feast of savages round their war-fire than any civilised meal ; 
slices of bacon broiled in the fire, and eggs roasted in the turf« 
ashes. The viands were not objectionable; but the cooking! 
Oh! — there was neither gridiron nor frying-pan, fork nor 
spoon ; a couple of clasp-knives served the whole party. Never- 
theless, they satisfied their hunger and then sent the bottle on 
its exhilarating round. Soon after that, many a story of bur- 
glary, robbery, swindling, petty larceny, and every conceivable 
crime, was related for the amusement of the circle ; and the 

HANDr ANDT. 337 

plots and counterplots of thieves and thief-takers raised the 
wonder of the peasants. Larry Hogan was especially delighted ; 
more particularly when some trick of either villany or cunning 
came out. 

" JNow women are troublesome cattle to deal with mostly," 
said Goggins. " They are remarkably 'cute first, and then they 
are spiteful after ; and for circumventin' either way are sharp 
hands. You see they do it quieter than men ; a man will make 
a noise about it, but a woman does it all on the sly. There was 
Bill Morgan — and a sharp fellow he was too — and he had set 
his heart on some silver spoons he used to see down in a kitchen 
windy, but the servant maid, somehow or other, suspected 
there was designs about the place, and was on the watch. 
Well, one night when she was all alone, she heard a noise out- 
side the windy, so she kept as quiet as a mouse. By and by 
the sash was attempted to be riz from the outside, so she laid 
hold of a kittle of boiling wather and stood hid behind the 
shutter. The windy was now riz a little, and a hand and arm 
thrust in to throw up the sash altogether, when the girl poured 
the boiling wather down the sleeve of Bill's coat. Bill roared 
with the pain, when the girl said to him, laughing, through 
the windy, ' I thought you came for something.' " 

" That was a 'cute girl," said Larry, chuckling. 

" Well, now, that's an instance of a woman's cleverness in 
preventing. I'll teach you one of her determination to dis- 
cover and prosecute to conviction ; and in this case, what make? 
it curious is, that Jack Tate had done the bowldest thing, and 
runthe greatest risks, ' the eminent deadly,' as the poet says, 
when he was done up at last by a feather-bed." 

" A feather-bed," repeated Larry, wondering how a feather- 
bed could influence the fate of a bold burglar, while Goggins 
mistook his exclamation of surprise to signify the paltriness of 
the prize, and therefore chimed in with him. 

" Quite true — no wonder you wonder — quite below a man of 
his pluck ; but the fact was, a sweetheart of his was longing for 
a feather-bed, and Jack determined to get it. Well, he marched 
into a house the door of which he found open, and went up 
ttairs and took the best feather-bed in the house, tied it up in 
the best quilt, crammed some caps and ribbons he saw lying 
about into the bundle, and marched down stairs again; but you 
see, in carrying off even the small thing of a feather-bed Jack 
showed the skill of a high practitioner, for he descendhered the 
stairs backwards." 

" Backwards ! " said Larry, " what was that for ?" 

" You'll see, by and by," said Goggins "he descendhered 


backwards, when suddenly he heerd a door opening, and a 
faymale voice exclaim, ' Where are you going with that bed ? ' " 

"'lam going up stairs with it, ma'am,' says Jack, whose 
backward position favoured his lie, and he began to walk up 

" ' Come down here,' said the lady, ' we want no beds here, 

" 'Mr. Sullivan, ma'am, sent me home with it himself/ said 
Jack," still mounting the stairs. 

" ' Come down, I tell you,' said the lady, in a great rag'e. 
1 There's no Mr. Sullivan lives here — go out of this with your 
bed, you stupid fellow." 

" ' I beg your pardon, ma'am,' says Jack, turning round and 
marching off with the bed fair and aisy. Well, there was a re- 
gular shilloo in the house when the thing was found out, and 
cart ropes wouldn't howld the lady for the rage she was in 
at being diddled ; so she offered rewards, and the dickens knows 
all; and what do you think at last discovered our poor Jack?" 

" The sweetheart, maybe," said Larry, grinning in ecstacy 
at the thought of human perfidy. 

" No," said Goggins, " honour even among sweetheart3, 
though they do the trick sometimes, I confess ; but no woman 
of any honour would betray a great man like Jack. No — 
'twas one of the paltry ribbons that brought conviction home 
to him ; the woman -never lost sight of hunting up evidence 
about her feather-bed, and, in the end, a ribbon out of one of 
her caps settled the hash of Jack Tate." 

Prom robbings they went on to tell of murders, and at last 
that uncomfortable sensation which people experience after a 
feast of horrors began to pervade the party; and whenever 
they looked round, there was the coffin in the back-ground. 

'" Throw some turf on the fire," said Goggins, "'tis burning 
3ow ; and change the subject ; the tragic muse has reigned 
sufficiently long — enough of the dagger and the bowl — sink 
the socks and put on the buckskins. Leather away, Jim — sing 
us a song." 

" What is it to be ?" asked Jim. 

"Oh— that last song of the Solicitor-General's," said 
Goggins, with an air as if the Solicitor-General were his par- 
ticular friend. 

"About the robbery V inquired Jim. 

" To be sure," returned Goggins. 

" Dear me," said Larry, " and would so grate a man as 
the Solicithor-General demane himself by writin' about rob- 
bers V 


"Oh!" said Gog-gins, "those in the heavy profession of 
the law must have their little private moments of rollickzation ; 
and then high men, you see, like to do a bit of low by way of 
variety. ' The Night before Larry was stretched' was done 
by a bishop, they say; and 'Lord Altamont's Bull' by the 
Lord Chief Justice ; and the Solicitor-General is as up to fun 
as any bishop of them all. Come, Jim, tip us the stave 1" 

Jim cleared his throat and obeyed his chief. 

©fre Quaker's Stating. 

" A traveller wended the wilds among, 
With a purse of gold and a silver tongue; 
His hat it was broad, and all drab were his clothes, 
For he hated high colours — except on his nose, 
And he met with a lady, the story goes. 

Ileigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 

' The damsel she cast him a merry blink, 
And the traveller nothing was loth, I think; 
Her merry black eye beamed her bonnet beneath, 
And the quaker he grinned, for he'd very good teeth, 
And he asked, ' Art thee* going to ride on the heath?' 
Ileigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 

" ' 1 hope you'll protect me, kind sir,' said the maid, 
1 As to ride this heath over I'm sadly afraid; 
For robbers, they say, here in numbers abound, 
An.l 1 wouldn't "for anything" I should be found, 
For, between you and me, I have five hundred pounil,* 
Ileigho! yea thee and nay the*. 


■' If that is thee own, dear,' the quaker he said, 
' I ne'er saw a maiden I sooner would wed; 
And I have another five hundred just now, 
In the padding that's under my saddle-bow, 
And I'll settle it all upon thee, I vow!' 

Heigho! yea thee and nay thee, 


"The maiden she smil'd, and her rein she drew, 
' Tour offer I'll take, though I'll not take you;' 

• The interior class of quakers make thee serve not only its own 
grammatical use, but also do the duty of thy and thine. 


A pistol she held at the quaker's head — 

' Now give me your gold, or I'll give you my lead, 

'Tis under the saddle I think you said.' 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 


" The damsel she ripp'd up the saddle-bow, 
And the quaker was never a quaker till now; 
And he saw by the fair one he wish'd for a bride, 
His purse borne away with a swaggering stride, 
And the eye that looked tender now only defied. 

Heigho! yea thee and nay thee. 


u 'The spirit doth move me, friend Broadbrim,' quoth she. 
' To take all this filthy temptation from thee, 
For Mammon deceiveth, and beauty is fleeting : 
Accept from thy maai-d'n a right loving greeting, 
For much doth she profit by this quaker's meeting.' 
Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 


" ' And hark ! jolly quaker, so rosy and sly, 
Have righteousness more than a wench in thine eye, 
Don't go again peeping girls' bonnets beneath, 
Remember the one that you met on the heath, 
Her name's Jimmy Barlow — I tell to your teeth ! ' 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 

" ' Friend James, quoth the quaker, ' pray listen to me, 
For thou canst confer a great favour, d'ye see ; 
The gold thou hast taken is not mine, my friend, 
But my master's — and on thee I depend 
To make it appear I my trust did defend.' 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 

• * So fire a few shots through my clothes, here and there, 
To make it appear 'twas a desp'rate affair.' 
So Jim he popped first through the skirt of his coat, 
And then through his collar, quite close to his throat ; 
'Now once through my broad-brim,' quoth Ephraim, ' I tot* 
Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 

"I have but a brace,' said bold Jim, 'and they're spent, 
And I won't load again for a make-believe rent.' 
* Then,' said Ephraim— producing his pistols — 'just give 
My five hundred pounds back — or, as sure as you live, 
I'll make of your body a riddle or sieve.' 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 


" Jim Barlow was diddled, and though he was game, 
He saw Ephraim's pistol so deadly in aim, 
That he gave up the gold, and he took to his scrapers, 
And when the whole story got into the papers, 
They said that ' the thieves were no match for the quakers. 
Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee, 

" Well, it's a quare thing you should be sing-in' a song 
sere," said Larry Ilogan, " about Jim Barlow, and it's not 
»ver half a mile out of this very place he was hanged." 

"Indeed!" exclaimed all the men at once, looking with 
jreat interest at Larry. 

" It's truth I'm telling you. He made a very bowld rob- 
aery up by the long hill there, on two gintlemen, for he was 
nighty stout." 

" Pluck to the back-bone," said Goggins. 

" Well, he tuk the purses aff both o' them ; and just as he 
was gom' on afther doin' the same, what should appear on the 
road before him, but two other travellers coming- up forninst 
him. With that the men that was robbed cried out ' Stop 
thief!' and so Jim seein' himself hemmed in betune the four o' 
them, faced his horse to the ditch and took across the counthry ; 
but the thravellers was well mounted as well as himself, and 
powdhered afther him like mad. Well, it was equal to a 
steeple chase a'most ; and Jim, seein' he could not shake them 
off, thought the best thing he could do was to cut out some 
troublesome work for them ; so he led off where he knew there 
was the divil's own leap to take, and he intended to 'pound* 
them there, and be off in the mane time ; but as ill luck would 
have it, his own horse, that was as bowld as himself, and 
would jump at the moon if he was faced to it, missed his foot 
in takin' off, and fell short o' the leap and slipped his shouldher, 
and Jim himself had a bad fall of it too, and, av coorse, it was 
all over wid him — and up came the four gintlemen. Well, 
Jim had his pistols yet, and he pulled them out, and swore he'd 
shoot the first man that attempted to take him ; but the gintle- 
men had pistols as well as he, and were so hot on the chase 
they determined to have him and closed on him. Jim fired 
and killed one o' them ; but he got a ball in the shouldher 
himself from another, and he was taken. Jim sthruv to shoot 
himself with his second pistol, but it missed fire. ' The curse 
o' the road is on me,' said Jim ; ' my pistol missed fire, and 
my horse slipped his shouldher, and now I'll be scragged,' says 

• Impound. 


he, 'but it's not for nothing — I've killed one o ye, says 

" He was all pluck," said Goggins. 

" Desperate bowld," said Larry. " Well, he was timed 
and condimned av coorse, and was hanged, as I tell you, half 
a mile out o' this very place where we are sittin', and his 
appearance walks, they say, ever since." 

" You don't say so !" said Goggins. 

" Faith, it's thrue !" answered Larry. 

" You never saw it," said Goggins. 

" The Lord forbid !" returned Larry ; " but it's thrue, for 
all that. For you see the big house near this barn, that is all 
in ruin, was desarted because Jim's ghost used to walk." 

"That was foolish," said Goggins; " stir up the fire, Jim, 
and hand me the whisky." 

" Oh, it it was only walkin', they might have got over that; 
but at last, one night, as the story goes, when there was a 
thremendious storm o' wind and rain — " 

" Whisht !" said one of the peasants, " what's that ?" 

As they listened they heard the beating of heavy rain 
against the door, and the wind howled through its chinks. 

" Well," said Goggins, " what are you stopping for V 

" Oh, I'm not stoppm'," said Larry ; " I was sayin' that it 
was a bad wild night, and Jimmy Barlow's appearance came 
into the house and asked them for a glass o' sper'ts, and that 
he'd be obleeged to them if they'd help him with his horse 
that slipped his shouldher ; and, faith, afther that, they'd stay 
in the place no longer ; and signs on it, the house is gone to 
rack and ruin, and it's only this barn that is kept up at all, 
because it's convaynient for owld Skinflint on the farm." 

" That's all nonsense," said Goggins, who wished, never- 
theless, that he had not heard the " nonsense." " Come, sing" 
another song, Jim." 

Jim said he did not remember one. 

" Then you sing, Ralph." 

Ralph said every one knew he never did more than join a 

" Then join me in a chorus," said Goggins, " for I'll sing if 
Jim's afraid." 

" I'm not afraid," said Jim. 

" Then why won't you sing 1" 

" Because I don't like." 

" Ah !" exclaimed Goggins. 

"Well, maybe you're afraid yourself," said Jim, "if vou 
towld thruth." J 

" Just to show you how little I'm afeard," said Goggins, 


with a swaggering air, " I'll sing another song about Jimmy 

" You'd better not," said Larry Hogan. " Let him rest in 
pace !" 

" Fudge !" said Goggins. " Will you join chorus, Jim P" 

" I will," said Jim, fiercely. 

" We'll all join," said the men (except Larry), who felt it 
would be a sort of relief to bully away the supernatural terror 
which hung round their hearts after the ghost story by the 
sound of their own voices. 

" Then here goes !" said Goggins, who started another long 
ballad about Jimmy Barlow, in the opening of which all joined. 
It ran as follows : — 

'' My name it is Jimmy Barlow, 
I was born in the town of Carlow, 
And here I lie in the Maryborough jail, 
All for the robbing of the W ioklow mail. 

Fol de rol de rol de riddle-ido! '' 

As it would be tiresome to follow this ballad through all its 
length, breadth, and thickness, we shall leave the singers en- 
gaged in their chorus, while we call the reader's attention to a 
more interesting person than Mister Goggins or Jimmy Bar- 


When Edward O'Connor had hurried from the burial-place, 
be threw himself into his saddle, and urged his horse to speed, 
anxious to fly the spot where his feelings had been so har- 
rowed ; and as he swept along through the cold night wind 
which began to rise in gusty fits, and howled past him, there 
was in the violence of his rapid motion something congenial to 
the fierce career of painful thoughts which chased each other 
through his heated brain. He continued to travel at this rapid 
pace, so absorbed in bitter reflection as to be quite insensible to 
external impressions, and he knew not how far nor how fast he 
was going, though the heavy breathing of his horse at any 
other time would have been signal sufficient to draw the rein; 
but still he pressed onward, and still the storm increased, and 
each acclivity was topped r ->ut to sweep dewa the succeeding 


slope at the same desperate pace. Hitherto the road over which 
he pursued his fleet career lay through an open country, 
and though the shades of a stormy night hung above it, the 
horse could make his way in safety through the gloom ; but 
now they approached an old road which skirted an ancient 
domain, whose venerable trees threw their arms across the old 
causeway, and added their shadows to the darkness of the 

Many and many a time had Edward ridden in the soft sum- 
mer under the green shade of these very trees, in company 
with Fanny Dawson, his guiltless heart full of hope and love ; 
perhaps it was this very thought crossing his mind at the mo- 
ment which made his present circumstances the more oppressive. 
He was guiltless no longer — he rode not in happiness with the 
woman he adored under the soft shade of summer trees, but 
heard the wintry wind howl through their leafless boughs as he 
hurried in maddened speed beneath them, and heard in the dis- 
mal sound but an echo of the voice of remorse which was 
ringing through his heart. The darkness was intense from the 
canopy of old oaks which overhung the road, but still the horse 
was urged through the dark ravine at speed, though one might 
not see an arm's length before. Fearlessly it was performed, 
though ever and anon, as the trees swung about their heavy 
branches in the storm, smaller portions of the boughs were 
snapped off and flung in the faces of the horse and the rider, 
who still spurred and plashed his headlong way through the 
heavy road beneath. Emerging at length from the deep and 
overshadowed valley, a steep hill raised its crest in advance, but 
still up the stony acclivity the feet of the mettled steed rattled 
rapidly, and flashed fire from the flinty path. As they ap- 
proached the top of the hill the force of the storm became more 
apparent, and on reaching its crest, the fierce pelting of the 
mingled rain and hail made the horse impatient of the storm of 
which his rider was heedless — almost unconscious. The spent 
animal with short snortings betokened his labour, and shook 
his head passionately as the fierce hail-shower struck him in the 
eyes and nostrils. Still, however, was he urged downward, 
but he was no longer safe. Quite blown, and pressed over a 
T ough descent, the generous creature, that would die rather than 
refuse, made a false step, and came heavily to the ground. 
Edward was stunned by the fall, though not seriously hurt; 
and, after the lapse of a few seconds recovered his feet, but 
found the horse still prostrate. Taking the animal by the head, 
he assisted him to rise, which he was not enabled to do till after 
several efforts ; and when he regained his legs, it was manifest 
he was seriously lamed ; and as he limped along with difficulty 


oes de his master, who led him gently, it became evident that it 
was beyond the animal's power to reach his own stable that 
night. Edward for the first time was now aware of how much 
lie had punished his horse ; he felt ashamed of using- the noble 
brute with such severity and became conscious that he had been 
acting under something little short of frenzy. The conscious- 
ness at once tended to restore him somewhat to himself, and he 
began to look around on every side in search of some house 
where he could find rest and shelter for his disabled horse. As 
he proceeded thus, the care necessarily bestowed on his dumb 
comp nion partially called off his thoughts from the painful 
theme with which they had been exclusively occupied, and the 
effect was most beneficial. The first violent burst of feeling 
was past and a calmer train of thought succeeded; he for the 
first time remembered the boy had forgiven him, and that was 
a great consolation to him : he recalled, too, his own words, 
pledging to Gustavus his friendship, and in this pleasing hope 
of the future he saw much to redeem what he regretted of the 
past. Still, however, the wild flare of the pine-torch over the 
lone grave of his adversary, and the horrid answer of the 
gravedigger, that he was but " finishing his work," would recur 
to his memory and awake an internal pang. 

From this painful reminiscenoe he sought to escape, by 
looking forward to all he would do for Gustavus, and had 
become much calmer, when the glimmer of a light not far ahead 
attracted him, and he soon was enabled to perceive it proceeded 
from some buildings that lay on his right, not far from the road. 
He turned up the rough path which formed the approach, and 
the light escaped through the chinks of a large door which 
indicated the place to be a coach-house, or some such office, 
belonging to the general pile which seemed in a ruinous 

As he approached, Edward heard rmle sounds of merri- 
ment, amongst which the joining of many voices in a "ree- 
raw '' chorus indicated that a carouse was going forward within. 

On reaching the door he could perceive through a wide 
chink a group of men sitting round a tm.f lire piieii '-it the. far 
end of the building, which had no fire-plao, ana the smoke 
curling upwards to the roof, wreathed the rafters in smoke 
beneath this vapoury canopy the party sat drinking and singing 
and Edward, ere he knocked for admittance, listened to the 
following strange refrain : — 

" For my name it is Jimmy Barlow, 
I was born in the town of Carlow, 
And here I lie in Maryborough jail, 
All #— 'he robbing of the Wicklmo mail. „„ 

Fol de rul de riddle-iddle-ido ! " * 


Then the principal singer took up the song-, which seemed tr 
be one of robbery/ blood, and murder, for it ran thus : — 

" Then he cocked his pistol gaily, 
And stood before him bravely, 
Smoke and fire is my desire, 
So blaze away my game-cock squire. 

For my name it is Jemmy Barlow, 

I was born, <f c. 

Edward O'Connor knocked at the door loudly ; the words 
ne had just "heard about " pistols," " blazing away," and, last of 
all, " squire," fell gratingly on his ear at that moment, and 
seemed strangely to connect themselves with the previous 
adventures of the night and his own sad thoughts, and he beat 
against the door with violence. 

The chorus ceased, Edward repeated his knocking. 

Still there was no answer ; but he heard low and hurried 
muttering inside. Determined, however, to gain admittance, 
Edward laid hold of an iron hasp outside the door, which en- 
abled him to shake the gate with violence, that there might be 
no excuse on the part of the inmates that they did not hear; 
but in thus making the old door rattle in its frame, it suddenly 
yielded to his touch and creaked open on its rusty hinges; for 
when Larry Hogan had entered it had been forgotten to be 

As Edward stood in the open doorway, the first object which 
met his eye was the coffin — and it is impossible to say how 
much at that moment the sight shocked him; he shuddered 
involuntarily, yet could not withdraw his eyes from the re- 
volting object; and the pallor with which bis previous mental 
nnxiety had invested his cheek increased as he looked on this 
last tenement of mortality. " Am I to see nothing but the 
evidences of death's doing this night?" was the mental 
question which shot through Edward's over- wrought brain, and 
he grew livid at the thought. He looked more like one raised 
from the jrmve tir\n a living being, and a wild glare in his eyes 
rendered ins appearance still more unearthly. He felt that 
shame which men always experience in allowing their feelings 
to overcome them ; and by a great effort he mastered his 
emotion and spoke, but the voice partook of the strong ner- 
vous excitement under which he laboured, and was hollow and 
broken, and seemed more like that which one might fancy to 
proceed from the jaws of a sepulchre than one of flesh and 
blood. Beaten by the storm, too, his hair hung in wet flakes 
over his face and added to his wild appearance, so that the men 
ell ' t the first glimpse they caught of him, and 


huddled themselves together in the farthest corner of the 
building 1 , from whence they eyed him with evident alarm. 

Edward thought some whisky might check the feeling 
of faintness which overcame him ; and though he deemed it 
probable he had broken in upon the nocturnal revel of des- 
perate and lawless men, he nevertheless asked them to give him 
some ; but instead of displaying- that alacrity so universal in 
Ireland, of sharing the "creature" with a new comer, the men 
only pointed to the bottle which stood beside the fire, and drew 
closer together. 

Edward's desire for the stimulant was so great, that he 
scarcely noticed the singular want of courtesy on the part of 
the men ; and seizing the bottle (for there was no glass), he 

Eut it to his lips, and quaffed a hearty dram of the spirit before 
e spoke. 

" I must ask for shelter and assistance here," said Edward. 
" My horse, I fear, has slipped his shoulder — " 

Before he could utter another word, a simultaneous roar of 
terror burst from the group ; they fancied the ghost of Jimmy 
Barlow was before them, and made a simultaneous rush from 
the barn ; and when they saw the horse at the door, another 
yell escaped them, as they fled with increased speed and terror. 
Edward stood in amazement as the men rushed from his pre- 
sence ; he followed to the gate to recall them ; they were gone ; 
he could only hear their yells in the distance. The circum- 
stance seemed quite unaccountable ; and as he stood lost in vain 
surmises as to the cause of the strange occurrence a low neigh 
of recognition from the horse reminded him of the animal's 
wants, and he led him into the barn, where, from the plenty of 
straw which lay around, he shook down a litter where the 
maimed animal might rest. 

He then paced iip and down the barn, lost in wonder at the 
conduct of those whom he found there, and whom his presence 
had so suddenly expelled ; and ever as he walked towards the fire 
the coffin caught his eye. As a fitful blaze occasionally arose 
it flashed upon the plate, which brightly reflected the flame, and 
Edward was irresistibly drawn, despite his original impression 
of horror at the object, to approach and read the inscription. 
The shield bore the name of " O'Grady," and Edward recoiled 
from the coffin with a shudder, and inwardly asked, was he in 
his waking senses ? He had but an hour ago seen his adversary 
laid in his grave, yet here was his coffin again before him, as if 
to harrow up his soul anew. Was it real, or a mockery ? Was 
He the sport of a dream, or was there some dreadful curse fallen 
upon him that he should be for ever haunted by the victim of 
hia arm, and the call of vengeance for blood be ever upon his 


track ? He breathed short and hard, &ad the smoky atmo- 
sphere in which he was enveloped rendered respiration still more 
difficult. As through this oppressive vapour, which seemed 
only fit for the nether world, he saw the coffin-plate flash back 
the flame, his imagination accumulated horror on horror ; ani 
when the blaze sank, and but the bright red of the fire was 
reflected, it seemed to him to burn, as it were, with a spot of 
blood, and he could support the scene no longer, but rushed 
from the barn in a state of mind bordering on frenzy. 

It was about an hour afterwards, near midnight, that the 
old barn was in flames ; most likely some of the straw near the 
fire, in the confusion of the breaking up of the party, had been 
scattered within range of ignition, and caused the accident. 
The flames were seen for miles round the country, and the 
shattered walls of the ruined mansion-house were illuminated 
brightly by the glare of the consuming barn, which in the 
morning added its own blackened and reeking ruin to the 
desolation, and crowds of persons congregated to the spot fol 
many days after. The charred planks of the coffin were 
dragged from amongst the ruin ; and as the roof in falling in 
had dragged a large portion of the wall along with it, the 
stones which had filled the coffin could not be distinguished 
from those of the fallen building, therefore much wonder arose 
that no vestige of the bones of the corse it was supposed to con- 
tain should be discovered. Wonder increased to horror as the 
strange fact was promulgated, and in the ready credulity 
?f a superstitious people, the terrible belief became general, that 
his sable majesty had made off with O'Grady and the party 
watching him ; for as the Dublin bailiffs never stopped till they 
got back to town, and were never seen again in the country, it 
was most natural to suppose that the devil had made a haul of 
them at the same time. In a few days rumour added the spec- 
tral appearance of Jim Barlow to the tale, which only deepened 
its mysterious horror; and though, after some time, the true 
story was promulgated by those who knew the real state of the 
case, yet the truth never gained ground, and was considered 
but a clever sham, attempted by the family to prevent so 
dreadful a story from attaching to their house ; and tradition 
perpetuates to this hour the belief that the deviljlew away with 

Lone and shunned as the hill was where the ruined house 
stood, it became more lone and shunned than ever, and the 
boldest heart in the whole country side would quail to be in its 
vicinity, even in the day-time. To such a pitch the panic rose, 
that an extensive farm which encircled it, and belonged to the 
eld usurer who made the seizure, fell into a profitless state from 


tne impossibility of men being found to work upon it. It was 
useless even as pasture, for no one could be found to herd 
cattle upon it ; altogether it was a serious loss to the money- 
grubber; and so far the incident of the burnt barn, and the 
tradition it gave rise to, acted beneficially in making the 
inhuman act of warring with the dead recoil upon the merciless 
old usurer. 


We left Anay in what may be called a delicate situation, 
and though Andy's perceptions of the refined were not very 
acute, he himself began to wonder how he should get out of 
the dilemma into which circumstances had thrown him ; and 
even to his dull comprehension, various terminations to his 
adventure suggested themselves, till he became quite confused 
■n the chaos which his own thoughts created. One good idea, 
nowever, Andy contrived to lay hold of out of the bundle which 
perplexed him ; he felt that to gain time would be an advan- 
tage, and if evil must come of his adventure, the longer he 
could keep it off the better ; so he kept up his affectation of 
iimidity, and put in his sobs and lamentations, like so many 
commas and colons, as it were, to prevent Bridget from arriving 
at her climax of going to bed. 

Bridget insisted bed was the finest thing in the world for a 
young woman in distress of mind. 

Andy protested he never could get a wink of sleep when 
his mind was uneasy. 

Bridget promised the most sisterly tenderness. 

Andy answered by a lament for his mother. 

" Come to bed, I tell you," said Bridget. 

"Are the sheets aired?" sobbed Andy. 

"What!" exclaimed Bridget, in amazement. 

" If you are not sure of the sheets bein' aired," said Andy, 
" Fd be afeard of catchin' cowld." 

" Sheets, indeed !" said Bridget ; " faith, it's a dainty lady 
you are, if you can't sleep without sheets." 

"What!" returned Andy, "no sheets?" 

"Divil a sheet." 

" Oh, mother, mother !" exclaimed Andy, " what would you 



say to your innocent child being tuk away to a place where 
there was no sheets?" 

" Well, I never heerd the like !" says Bridget. 

" Oh, the villains ! to bring me where I wouldn't have a 
bit o' clane linen to lie in !" 

" Sure, there's blankets, I tell you." 

" Oh, don't talk to me !" roared Andy; " sure, you know, 
sheets is only dacent.'' 

" Bother, girl! Isn't a snug woolly blanket a fine thing?" 

"Oh, don't brake my heart that-a-way!" sobbed Andy; 
" sure, there's wool on any dirty sheep's back, but linen ia 
dacency ! Oh, mother, mother, if you thought your poor girl 
was without a sheet this nightl" 

And so Andy went on, spinning his bit of " linen manu- 
facture" as long as he could, and raising Bridget's wonder, 
that instead of the lament which abducted ladies generally 
raise about their " vartue,'' this young woman's principal 
complaint arose on the scarcity of flax. Bridget appealed to 
common sense if blankets were not good enough in these bad 
times ; insisting, moreover, that, as " love was warmer than 
friendship, so wool was warmer than flax," the beauty of which 
parallel case nevertheless failed to reconcile the disconsolate 
abducted. Now Andy had pushed his plea of the want of linen 
as far as he thought it would go, and when Bridget returned 
to the charge, and reiterated the oft-repeated " Come to bed, 
I tell you !" Andy had recourse to twiddling about his toeH, 
and chattering his teeth, and exclaimed in a tremulous voice, 
" Oh, I've a thrimblin' all over me!" 

" Loosen the sthrings o' you, then," said Bridget, about to 
suit the action to the word. 

"Ow! o\v!" cried Andy, " don't touch me — I'm ticklish." 

" Then open the throat o' your gown yourself, dear,'' saL 

" I've a cowld on my chest, and darn't," said Andy ; _" but 
1 think a dhrop of hot punch would do me good if I had it." 

" And plenty of it," said Bridget, " if that'll plaze you." 
She rose as she spoke, and set about getting " the materials," 
for making punch. 

Andy hoped, by means of this last idea, to drink Bridget 
into a state of unconsciousness, and then make his escape; btrt 
he had no notion, until he tried, what a capacity the gsntle 
Bridget had for carrying tumblers of punch steadily; he pro- 
ceeded as cunningly as possible, and on the score of " the 
thrimblin' over him," repeated the doses oi punch, which, 
nevertheless, he protested he couldn't touch, unless Bridget 
kept him in countenance, glass for glass ; and Bridget — genial 


goul — was no way loth ; for living in a still, and among smug- 
glers, as she did, it was not a trifle of stingo could bring her 
to a halt. Andy, even with the advantage of the stronger 
organisation of a man, found this mountainlass nearly a match 
for him, and before the potations operated as he hoped upon her, 
his own senses began to feel the influence of the liquor, andhia 
caution became considerably undermined. 

Still, however, he resisted the repeated offers of the couch 
proposed to him, declaring he would sleep in his clothes, and 
leave to Bridget the full possession of her lair. 

The fire began to burn low, and Andy thought he might 
facilitate his escape by counterfeiting sleep ; so feigning slum- 
ber as well as he could, he seemed to sink into insensibility, 
and Bridget unrobed herself and retired behind a rough screen. 

It was by a great effort that Andy kept himself awake, for 
his potations, added to his nocturnal excursion, tended towards 
somnolency ; but the desire of escape, and fear of a dis- 
covery and its consequences, prevailed over the ordinary 
tendency of nature, and he remained awake, watching every 
sound. The silence at last became painful — so still was it, 
that he could hear the small crumbling sound of the dying 
embers as they decomposed and shifted their position on the 
hearth, and yet he could not be satisfied from the breathing of 
the woman that she slept. After the lapse of half an hour, 
however, he ventured to make some movement. He had well 
observed the quarter in which the outlet from the cave lay, 
and there was still a faint glimmer from the fire to assist him 
in crawling towards the trap. It was a relief when, after some 
minutes of cautious creeping, he felt the fresh air breathing 
from above, and a moment or two more, brought him in con- 
tact with the ladder. With the stealth of a cat he began to 
climb the rungs — he could hear the men snoring on the out- 
side of the cave : step by step as he arose he felt his heart beat 
faster at the thought of escape, and became more cautious. 
At length his head emerged from the cave, and he saw the men 
lying about its mouth ; they lay close around it — he must step 
over them to escape — the chance is fearful, but he determines 
to attempt it — he ascends still higher — his foot is on the last 
rung of the ladder — the next step puts him on the heather— 
when he feels a hand lay hold of him from below I 

His heart died within him at the touch, and he could not 
resist an exclamation. 

'• Who's that?" exclaimed one of the men outside. Andy 

''Come down," said the voice softly from below ; "if Jack 
t will be worse Air you." 


It was the voice of Bridget, and Andy felt it was better to 
be with her than exposed to the savagery of Shan More and 
his myrmidons ; so he descended quietly, and gave himself up 
to the tight hold of Bridget, who with many asseverations thaf 
" out of her arms she would not let the prisoner go till morn- 
ing," led him back to the cave. 


•' Great wit to madness nearly is allied, 
And thin partitions do the bounds divide. " 

So sings the poet ; but whether the wit be great or little 
the " thin partition'' separating madness from sanity is equally 
mysterious. It is true that the excitability attendant upon 
genius approximates so closely to madness, that it is sometimes 
difficult to distinguish between them ; but without the atten- 
dant " genius" to hold up the train of madness, and call for 
our special permission and respect in any of its fantastic ex- 
cursions, the most ordinary crack-brain sometimes chooses to 
sport in the regions of sanity, and, without the license which 
genius is supposed to dispense to her children, poach over the 
preserves of common sense. This is a well-known fact, and 
would not be reiterated here, but that the circumstances about 
to be recorded hereafter might seem unworthy of belief; and 
as the veracity of our history we would not have for one 
moment questioned, we have ventured to jog the memory ol 
our readers as to the close neighbourhood of madness and 
common sense, before we record a curious instance of inter- 
mitting madness in the old dowager O'Grady. 

Her son's death had, by the violence of the shock, dragged 
her from the region of fiction in which she habitually existed ; 
but after the funeral she relapsed into all her strange aberra- 
tion, and her bird-clock and her chimney-pot head-dress were 
once more in requisition. 

The old lady had her usual attendance from her grand- 
daughter, and the customary offering of flowers was rendered, 
but they were not so cared for as before, and Charlotte was 
dismissed sooner than usual from her morning's attendance 
and a new favourite received in her place. And " of all fhf 


birds in the air," who should this favourite be but Master 
Ratty. Yes ! — Ratty — the caricaturist of his grandmamma, 
was, " for the nonce/' her closeted companion. Many a guess 
>vas given as to " what in the world" grandmamma could want 
with Ratty ; but the secret was kept between them, for this 
reason, that the old lady kept the reward she promised Ratty 
for preserving it in her own hands, until the duty she required 
on his part should be accomplished, and the shilling a-day to 
which Ratty looked forward kept him faithful. 

Now the duty Master Ratty had to perform was instructing 
bis grandmamma how to handle a pistol; the bringing up 
quick to the mark, and levelling by " the sight," was explained, 
but a difficulty arose in the old lady's shutting her left eye, 
which Ratty declared to be indispensable, and for some time 
Ratty was obliged to stand on a chair and cover his grand- 
mamma's eye with his hand while she took aim ; this was found 
inconvenient, however, and the old lady substituted a black 
silk shade to obfuscate her sinister luminary in her exercises, 
which now advanced to snapping the lock, and knocking sparks 
from the flint, which made the old lady wink with her right- 
eye. When this second habit was overcome, the " dry" prac- 
tice, that is, without powder, was given up, and a " flash in the 
pan" was ventured upon, but this made her shut both eyes 
together, and it was some time before she could prevail on 
herself to hold her eye fixed on her mark, and pull the trigger. 
This, however, at last was accomplished, and when she had 
conquered the fear of seeing the flash, she adopted the plan of 
standing before a handsome old-fashioned looking-glass which 
reached from the ceiling to the floor, and levelling the pistol at 
her own reflection within it, as if she were engaged in mortal 
combat; and every time she snapped and burned priming she 
would exclaim, " I hit him that time ! — I know I can kill him 
— tremble, villain .'" 

As long as this pistol practice had the charm of novelty for 
Ratty, it was all very well ; but when, day by day, the strange 
mistakes and nervousness of his grandmamma became less 
piquant from repetition, it was not such good fun ; and when 
the rantipole boy, after as much time as he wished to devote 
to the old woman's caprice, endeavoured to emancipate him- 
self and was countermanded, an outburst of " Oh bother /" 
would take place, till the grandmother called up the prospec- 
tive shillings to his view, and Ratty bowed before the altar oi 
Mammon. But even Mammon failed to keep Ratty loyal; for 
that heathen god, Momus, claimed a superior allegiance ; Ratty 
worshipped the "cap and bells" as the true crown, and "thr 
bauble" as the sovereign sceptre. Besides, the secret became 


troublesome to him, and he determined to let the whole housa 
know what " gran" and he were about, in a way of his own. 

The young imp, in the next day's practice, worked up the 
grandmamma to a state of great excitement, urging her to 
take a cool and determined aim at the looking-glass. " Cover 
hjm well, gran," said Ratty. 

" I will," said the dowager, resolutely. 

" You ought to be able to hit him at six paces." 

" I stand at twelve paces." 

" ~No — you are only six from the looking-glass." 

" But the reflection, child, in the mirror, doubles the dis- 

"Bother!" said Ratty. "Here, take the pistol — mind 
youi eye and don't wink." 

"Ratty, you are singularly obtuse to the charms of 

" What's science ? " said Ratty. 

" Science, child, is knowledge of a lofty and abstruse 
nature, developing itself in wonderful inventions — gunpowder, 
for instance, is made by science." 

" Indeed it is not," said Ratty ; " I never saw his name on 
a canister. Pigou, Andrew, and Wilks, or Mister Dartford 
Mills, are the men for gunpowder. You know nothing about 
it, gran." 

" Ratty, you are disrespectful, and will not listen to in- 
struction. I knew Kirwan — the great Kirwan, the chemist, 
who always wore his hat — " 

" Then he knew chemistry better than manners." 

" Ratty, you are very troublesome. I desire you listen, 
sir. Kirwan, sir, told me all about science, and the Dublin 
Society have his picture, with a bottle in his hand — " 

" Then he was fond of drink," said Ratty. 

"Ratty, don't be pert. To come back to what I was 
originally saying — I repeat, sir, I am at twelve paces from my 
object, six from the mirror, which, doubled by reflection, 
makes twelve ; such is the law of optics. I suppose you know 
what optics are ? " 

" To be sure I do." 

"Tell me, then." 

" Our eyes," said Ratty. 

" Eyes ! " exclaimed the old lady in amaze. 

" To be sure," answered Ratty, boldly. " Didn t I heal 
the old blind man at the fair asking charity ' for the loss of hij 
blessed optics?'" 

" Oh, what lamentable ignorance, my child I " exclaimed 
the old lady. " Your tutor ought to be ashamed p£ himself" 


" So he is," said Ratty. " He hasn't had a pair of new 
breeches for the last seven years, and he hides himself when- 
ever he sees mamma or the girls." 

" Oh, you ignorant child ! Indeed, Ratty, my love, you 
must, study. I will give you the renowned Kirwan's book. 
Charlotte tore some of it for curl papers ; but there's enough 
left to enlighten you with the sun's rays, and reflection and 
refraction — " 

" 1 kaow what that is," said Ratty. 


" Refraction." 

" And what is it, dear ?" 

" Bad behaviour," said Ratty. 

" Oh, heavens ! " exclaimed his grandmother. 

" Yes, it is," said Ratty, stoutly ; " the tutor says I'm re« 
fractory when I behave ill ; and he knows Latin better than 

" Ratty, Ratty ! you are hopeless ! " exclaimed his grand- 

" No, I am not," said Ratty I'm always hoping. And I 
hope Uncle Robert will break h\ neck some day, and leave us 
his money." 

The old woman turned up her eyes, and exclaimed, " You 
wicked boy ! '' 

" Fudge ! " said Ratty ; " he's an old shaver, and we want 
it ; and indeed, gran, you ought to give me ten shillings for 
ten day's teaching, now ; and there's a fair next week, and I 
want to buy things.'' 

" Ratty, I told you when you made me perfect in the use of 
my weapon I would pay you. My promise is sacred, and I 
will observe it with that scrupulous honour which has eve* 
been the characteristic of the family ; as soon as I hit some- 
thing, and satisfy myself of my mastery over the weapon, the 
money shall be yours, but not till then." 

" Oh, very well," said Ratty ; " go on then. Heady — don't 
bring up your arm that way, like the handle of a pump, but 
raise it nice from the elbow — that's it. Heady— -Jire 1 Ah ! 
there you blink your eye, and drop the point of your pistol — 
try another. Ready— fire ! — That's better. Now steady the 
next time." 

The young villain then put a charge of powder and ball 
into the pistol he handed his grandmother, who took steady 
aim at her reflection in the mirror, and at the words, " Ready 
—fire ! " bang went the pistol — the magnificent glass was 
smashed — the unexpected recoil of the weapon made it drop 
from the hand of the dowager, who screamed with astonish- 


ment at the report and the shock and did not see for a moment 
the mischief she had done; but whrn the shattered mirror 
caught her eyes, she made a rush at Ratty, who was screech- 
ing with laughter in the far corner of the room where he ran 
to when he had achieved his trick, and he was so helpless.from 
the excess of his cachinnation, that the old lady cuffed him 
without his being able to defend himself. At last he con- 
trived to get out of her clutches and jammed her against the 
wall with a table so tightly, that she roared " Murder ! " The 
report of the pistol ringing through the house brought all it? 
inmates to the spot ; and there the cries of murder from the 
old lady led them to suppose some awful tragedy, instead of a 
comedy, was enacting inside ; the door was locked, too, which in- 
creased the alarm, and was forced in the moment of terror from 
the outside. When the crowd rushed in, Master Ratty rushed 
out, and left the astonished family to gather up the bits of the 
story as well as they could, from the broken looking-glass and 
the cracked dowager. 


Though it is clear the serious events in the O'Grady 
family had not altered Master Ratty's propensities in the least 
the case was far different with Gustavus. In that one nighl 
of suffering which he had passed, the gulf was leaped that 
divides the boy from the' man ; and the extra frivolity and 
carelessness which clung from boyhood up to the age of fif- 
teen was at once, by the sudden disrupture produced by events, 
thrown off, and as singular a ripening into manhood com- 

Gustavus was of a generous nature ; and even his faults be- 
longed less to his organisation than to the devil-may-care sort 
of education he received, if education it might be called. Upon 
his generosity the conduct of Edward O'Connor beside the 
grave of the boy's father had worked strongly ; and though 
Gustavus could not give his hand beside the grave to the man 
with whom his father had engaged in deadly quarrel, yet he 
quite exonerated Edward from any blame ; and when, after a 
night more sleepless than Gustavus had ever known, he rose 
early on the ensuing morning, he determined to ride over to 


Edward O'Connor's house to breakfast, and commence that 
friendship which Edward had so solemnly promised to him, and 
with which the boy was pleased, for Gustavus was quite aware 
in what estimation Edward was held ; and though the relative 
circumstances in which he and the late Squire stood prevented 
the boy from " caring a fig" for him, as he often said himself, 
yet he was not beyond the influence of that thing called "repu- 
tation," which so powerfully attaches to and elevates the man 
who wins it ; and the price at which Edward was held in the 
country, influenced opinion even in Neck-or-Nothing Hall, albeit 
though "against the grain." Gustavus had sometimes heard, 
from the lips of the idle and ignorant, Edward sneered at for 
being "cruel wise," and "too much of a schoolmaster," and fit 
for nothing but books or a boudoir, and called a " piano man," 
with all the rest of the hacknied " dirt" which jealous inferiority 
loves to fling at the heights it cannot occupy ; for though — as it 
has been said — Edward, from his manly and sensible bearing, 
had escaped such sneers better than most men, still some few 
there were to whom his merit was offensive. Gustavus, how- 
ever, though he sometimes heard such things, saw with his own 
eyes that Edward could back a horse with any man in the 
country — was always foremost in the chace — could bring down 
as many brace of birds as most men in a day — had saved one 
or two' persons from drowning ; and if he did all these things 
as well as other men, Gustavus (though hitherto too idle to learn 
much himself) did not see why a man should be sneered at for 
being an accomplished scholar as well. Therefore he had good 
foundation for being pleased at the proffered friendship of such 
a man, and remembering the poignancy of Edward's anguish 
on the foregoing eve, Gustavus generously resolved to see him 
at once and offer him the hand which a nice sense of feeling 
made him withhold the night before. Mounting his pony, an 
hour's smart riding brought him to Mount Eskar, for such was 
the name of Mr. O'Connor's residence. 

It was breakfast-time when Gustavus arrived, but Edward 
had not yet left his room, and the servant went to call him. It 
need scarcely be said that Edward had passed a wretched night ; 
reaching home, as he did, weary in mind and body and with 
feelings and imagination both overwrought, it was long before 
he could sleep ; and even then his dumber was disturbed by 
harassing visions and frightful images. Spectral shapes and 
things unimaginable to the waking senses danced and crawled 
and hissed about him. The torch flared above the grave, and 
that horrid coffin, with the name of the dead O'Grady upon it, 
" murdered sleep." It was dawn before anything like refresh- 
ing slumber touched his feverish eyelids, an* 1 he had not enjoyed 


more than a couple of hours of what might be called sleep, when 
the servant called him ; and then, after the brief oblivion he had 
obtained, one may fancy how he started when the first words 
he heard on waking were, " Mister O'Grady is below, sir." 

Edward started up from his bed and stared wildly on the man. 
as he exclaimed, with a look of alarm, "O'Grady ! For God'8 
sake you don't say O'Grady ? " 

" "Tis Master Gustavus, sir," said the man, wondering at 
the wildness of Edward's manner. 

"Oh, the boy 1 — ay, ay, the boy !" repeated Edward, draw- 
ing his hands across his eyes and recovering his self-possessioa 
" Say I will be down presently." 

The man retired, and Edward lay down again for some 
minutes to calm the heavy beating of his heart which the sudden 
mention of that name had produced ; that name so linked with 
the mental agony of the past night ; that name which had con- 
jured up a waking horror of such might as to shake the sway of 
reason for a time, and which afterwards pursued its reign of 
terror through his sleep. After such a night, fancy poor Ed- 
ward doomed to hear the name of O'Grady again the first thing 
in the morning, and we cannot wonder that he was startled. 

A few minutes, however, served to restore his self-possession 
and he arose, made his toilet in haste, and descended to the 
breakfast parlour, where he was met by Gustavus with an open 
hand, which Edward clasped with fervour and held for some 
time as he looked on the handsome face of the boy, and saw in 
its frank expression all that his heart could desire. They spoke 
not a word, but they understood one another ; and that moment 
commenced an attachment which increased with increasing 
intimacy, and became one of those steadfast friendships which 
are seldom met with. 

After breakfast Edward brought Gustavus to his " den," as 
he called a room which was appropriated to his own particular 
use, occupied with books and a small collection of national relics. 
Some long ranges of tha(; peculiar calf binding, with its red 
label, declared at once the contents to be law ; and by the dry 
formal cut of the exterior gave little invitation to reading. 
The very outside of a law library is repulsive ; the continuity of 
that eternal buff leather gives one a surfeit by anticipation, 
and makes one mentally exclaim in despair " Heavens ! how 
can any one hope to get all that into his head ? " The only plain 
honest thing about law is the outside of the books where it is 
laid down — there all is simple; inside all is complex. The 
interlacing lines of the binder's patterns find no place on the 
covers ; but intricacies abound inside, where any line is easier 
jaund than a straight one. Nor gold leaf nor tool is employed 


without, but within how many fallacies are enveloped in glozing 
words ; the gold leaf has its representative in " legal faction," 
and as for " tooling," there's plenty of that ! 

Other books, also, bore external evidence of the nature of 
their contents. Some old parchment covers indicated the lore 
of past ages ; amidst these the brightest names of Greece and 
Home were to be found, as well as those who have adorned our 
own literature, and implied a cultivated taste on the part of the 
owner. But one portion of the library was particularly well 
stored. The works bearing on Irish history were numerous, 
and this might well account for the ardour of Edward's 
feelings in the cause of his country ; for it is as impossible that 
a river should run backwards to its source, as that any Irish- 
man of a generous nature can become acquainted with the real 
history of his country, and not feel that she has been an ill 
used and neglected land, and not struggle in the cause of he- 
being righted. Much has been done in the cause since the days 
of which this story treats, and Edward was amongst those who 
helped to achieve it ; but much has still to be done, and there 
is glorious work in store for present and future Edward 

Along with the books which spoke the cause of Ireland, the 
mute evidences, also, of her former glnry and civilisation were 
scattered through the room. Various ornaments of elegant 
form, and wrought in the purest gold, were tastefully arranged 
over the mantel-piece ; some, from their form, indicating their 
use, and others only affording matter of ingenious speculation 
to the antiquary, but all bearing evidence of early civilisation. 
The frontlet of gold indicated noble estate, and the long and 
tapering bodkin of the same metal, with its richly enchased 
knob or pendent crescent, implied the robe it once fastened 
could have been of no mean texture, and the wearer of no 
mean rank. Weapons were there, too, of elegant form and 
exquisite workmanship, wrought in that ancient bronze, of such 
wondrous temper that it carries effective edge and point. The 
Bword was of exact Phoenician mould ; the double-eyed spear- 
head, formed at once for strength and lightness, might have 
served as the model for a sculptor in arming the hand of 
Minerva. Could these be the work of an uncultivated people ? 
Impossible 1 The harp, too, was there, that unfailing mark of 
polish and social elegance. The bard and barbarism could 
never be coeval. But a relic was there, exciting still deeper 
oterest — an ancient crosier, of curious workmanship, wrought 
fi the precious metals and partly studded with jewels ; but iew 
»f the latter remained, though the empty collets showed it had 
Mice been costly in such ornaments. Could this be seen without 


remembering that the light of Christianity first dawned over 
the western isles in Ireland ! that there the Gospel was first 
preached, there the work of salvation begun ! 

There be cold hearts to which these touching recollections do 
not pertain, and they heed them not ; and some there are, whc, 
with a callousness which shock sensibility, have the ignorant 
sffrontery to ask, " Of what use are such recollections ?" With 
such frigid utilitarians it would be vain to argue ; but this 
question, at least, may be put in return: — Why should the 
ancient glories of Greece and Rome form a large portion of the 
academic studies of our youth ? — why should the evidences of 
their arts and their arms be held precious in museums, and 
similar evidences of ancient cultivation be despised because 
they pertain to another nation ? Is it because they are Irish 
they are held in contempt ? Alas ! in many cases it is so — ay, 
and even (shame to say) within her own shores. But never 
may that day arrive when Ireland shall be without enough of 
true and fond hearts to cherish the memory of her ancient 
glories, to give to her future sons the evidences of her earliest 
western civilisation, proving that their forefathers were not (as 
those say who wronged and therefore would malign them) a 
rabble of rude barbarians, but that brave kings, and proud 
princes, and wise lawgivers, and just judges, and gallant chiefs, 
and chaste and lovely women were among them, and that in- 
spired bards were there to perpetuate such memories! 

Gustavus had never before seen a crosier, and asked what it 
was. On being informed of its name, he then said, " But what 
w a crosier 1" 

"A bishop's pastoral staff," said Edward. 

" And why have you a bishop's staff, and swords, and 
spears, hung up together?" 

" That is not inappropriate," said Edward. " Unfortunately, 
the sword and the crosier have been frequently but too intimate 
companions. Preaching the word of peace has been too often 
the pretext for war. The Spaniards, for instance, in the name 
of the Gospel, committed the most fearful atrocities." 

"Oh, I know," said Gustavus, "that was in the time of 
bloody Mary and the Armada." 

Edward wondered at the boy's ignorance, and saw in an 
instant the source of his false application of his allusion to the 
Spaniards. Gustavus had been taught to vaguely couple the 
name of " bloody Mary" with everything bad, and that of 
" good Queen Bess" with all that was glorious; and the word 
" Spanish," in poor Gusty 's head, had been hitherto connected 
with two ideas, namely " liquorice" and the " Armada." 

Edward, without wounding the sensitive shame of ignorant 


youtu, gently set him right, and made him aware he had 
alluded to the conduct of the Spaniards in America under Cortes 
uid Pizarro. 

For the first time in his life Gustavus wa9 aware that 
Pizarro was a real character. He had heard his grandmamma 
speak of a play of that name, and how great Mr. Kemble was 
in Hollo, and how he saved a child ; but as to its belonging to 
history, it was a new light — the utmost Gusty knew about 
America being that it was discovered by Columbus. 

" But the crosier," said Edward, " is amongst the mo9l 
interesting of Irish antiquities, and especially belongs to an Irish 
collection, when you remember the earliest preaching of Chris- 
tianity in the western isles was in Ireland." 

" I did not know that," said the boy. 

" Then you don't know why the shamrock is our national 
emblem t" 

" Xo," said Gustavus, " though I fcike care to mount one in 
my hnt every Patrick's day." 

" Well," said Edward, anxious to give Gustavus credit for 
any knowledge he possessed, " you know at least it is connected 
with the memory of St. Patrick, though you don't know why. 
I will tell you. When St. Patrick first preached the Christian 
faith in Ireland, before a powerful chief and his people, when 
he spoke of one God, and of the Trinity, the chief asked how 
one could be in three. St. Patrick, instead of attempting a 
theological definition of the faith, thought a simple image would 
best serve to enlighten a simple people, and stooping to the 
earth he plucked from the green sod a shamrock, and holding 
up the trefoil before them he bid them there behold one in three. 
The chief, struck by the illustration, asked at once to be bap- 
tised, and all his sept followed his example." 

"I never heard that before," said Gusty. " 'Tis very 

" I will tell you something else connected with it," said Ed- 

" After baptizing the chief, St. Patrick made an eloquent 
exhortation to the assembled multitude, and in the course of his 
address, while enforcing 1 his urgent appeal with appropriate 
gesture, as the hand which held his crosier, after being raised 
towards Heaven, descended again towards the earth, the point 
of his staff, armed with metal, was driven through the foot ot 
the chief, who, fancying it was part of the ceremony, and but 
a necessary testing of the firmness of his faith, never winced." 

"He was a fine fellow," said Gusty. "And is that the 
crosier !" he added, alluding to the one in Edward's collectiony 
and manifestly excited by what he had heard 



" No," said Edward, " but one of early date and belonging 
to some of the lirst preachers of the Gospel amongst us." 

" And have you other thing's here with- such beautiful 
stories belonging' to them V inquired Gusty, eager for more of 
that romantic lore which youth loves so passionately. 

" Not that I know of," answered Edward ; " but if these 
objects here had only tongues, if every sword, and belt, and 
epear-head, and golden bodkin, and other trinket could speak, 
no doubt we should hear stirring stories of gallant warriors 
and their ladye-loves." 

"Aye, that would be something to hear!" exclaimed Gusty. 

" Well," said Edward, " you may have many such stories by 
reading the history of your country ; which, if you have not 
read, I can lend you books enough." 

"Oh, thank you," said Gusty; "I should like it so 

Edward approached the book -shelf and selected a volume he 
thought the most likely to interest so little practised a reader ; 
and when he turned round he saw Gusty poising in his hand 
an antique Irish sword of bronze. 

" Do you know what that is," inquired Edward. 

" I can't tell you the name of it," answered Gusty, " but I 
suppose it was something to slick a fellow.'' 

Edward smiled at the characteristic reply, and told him it 
was an antique Irish sword. 

" A sword ?'' he exclaimed. " Isn't it short for a sword !" 

"All the swords of that day were short." 

" When was that ?" inquired the boy. 

" Somewhere about two thousand years ago." 

" Two thousand years," exclaimed Gusty, in surprise. " How 
is it possible you can tell this is two thousand years old V 

" Because it is made of the same metal and of the same 
shape as the swords found at Cannae, where the Carthaginiana 
fought the Romans." 

" I know the Roman history," said Gusty, eager to display 
his little bit of knowledge ; " I know the Roman history, 
Romulus and Remus were educated by a wolf." 

Edward could not resist a smile, which he soon suppressed, 
and continued : — " Such works as you now hold in your hand 
are found in quantities in Ireland, and seldom anywhere else in 
Europe, except in Italy, particularly at Cannee, where some 
thousands of Carthaginians fell ; and when we find the sword 
of the same make and metal in places so remote, it establishes a 
6trong connecting link between the people of Carthage and 
of Ireland, and at once shows their date." 

l ' "low curious that is !" exclaimed Gusty ; " and how odd I 


never heard it before ! Are there many such curious thing* 
you know ?" 

" Many," said Edward. 

" I wonder how people can find out such odd things," said 
the boy. 

"My dear boy," 6aid Edward, "after getting a certain 
amount of knowledge, other knowledge comes very fast ; it 
gathers like a snowball — or perhaps it would be better to illus- 
trate the fact by a mill-dam. You know, when the water is 
low in the mill-dam, the miller cannot drive his wheel ; but the 
moment the water comes up to a certain level it has force to 
work the mill ; — and so it is with knowledge ; when once you 
get it tip to a certain level, you can ' work your mill,' with this 
preat advantage over the mill-dam, that the stream of know- 
ledge, once reaching the working level, never runs dry." 

" Oh, I wish I knew as much as you do," exclaimed Gusty, 

" And so you can if you wish it," said Edward. 

Gusty sighed heavily and admitted he had been very idle. 
Edward told him he had plenty of time before him to repair the 

A conversation then ensued, perfectly frank on the part of 
the boy, and kind on Edward's side to all his deficiencies, which 
he found to be lamentable, as far as learning went. He had 
some small smattering of Latin ; but Gustavus vowed steady 
attention to his tutor and his studies for the future. Edward 
knowing what a miserable scholar the tutor himself was, 
offered to put Gustavus through his Latin and Greek himself. 
Gustavus accepted the offer with gratitude, and rode over every 
day to Mount Eskar for his lesson ; and, under the intelligent 
explanations of Edward, the difficulties which had hitherto»dis- 
couraged him disappeared, and it was surprising what progress 
he made. At the same time he devoured Irish history, and 
became rapidly tinctured with that enthusiastic love of all that 
belonged to his country which he found in his teacher ; and 
Edward soon hailed, in the ardent neophyte, a noble and intel- 
ligent spirit redeemed from ignorance and rendered capable of 
higher enjoyments than those to be derived merely from field 
sports. Edward, however, did not confine his instructions to 
book-learning only ; there is much to be learned by living with 
the educated, whose- current conversation alone is instructive : 
and Edward had Gustavus with him as constantly as he could ; 
and after sometime, when the frequency of Gusty's visits to 
Mount Eskar ceased to excite any wonder at home, he some- 
times spent several days together with Edward to whom he be- 
came continually more and more attached. Edward shewed 
great judgment in making his training attractive to his pupil; 


he did not attend merely to his head; he thought of othei 
things as well ; joined him in the sports and exercises he knew, 
and taught him those in which he was uninstructed. Fencing 
for instance, was one of these ; Edward was a tolerable mastel 
of his foil, and in a few months Gustavus, under his tuition, 
could parry a thrust and make no bad attempt at a hit himself. 
His improvement in every way was so remarkable, that it was 
noticed by all, and its cause did not long remain secret, and when 
it was known, Edward O'Connor's character stood higher than 
ever, and the whole country said it was a luc-ky day for Gusty 
O'Grady that he found such a friend. 

As the limits of our story would not permit the intercourse 
between Edward and Gustavus to be treated in detail, this 
general sketch of it has been given ; and in stating its con- 
sequences so far, a peep into the future has been granted by the 
author, with a benevolence seldom belonging to his ill-natured 
and crafty tribe, who endeavo-ur to hoodwink their docile fol- 
lowers as much as possible and keep them in a state of ignorance 
as to coming events. But now, having been so indulgent, we 
must beg to lay hold of the skirts of our readers and pull them 
back again down the ladder into the private still, where Bridget 
pulled back Andy very much after the same fashion, and the 
results of which we must treat of in our next chapter. 


When Bridget dragged Andy back and insisted on his 
poing to bed- 
No — I will not be too goodnatured and tell my story in that 
way ; besides, it would be a very difficult matter to tell it ; and 
why should an author, merely to oblige people, get himself in- 
volved in a labyrinth of difficulties and rack his unfortunate 
brain to pick and choose words properly to tell his story, yet at 
the same time to lead his readers through the mazes of this very 
ticklish adventure, without a single thorn scratching their 
delicate feelings, or as much as making the smallest rent in 
the white muslin robe of propriety 1 So, not to run unneces- 
•ary risks, the story must go on another way. 

When Shan More and the rest of the " big tuacKguards" 


began to wake, the morning after the abduction, and gave * 
turn or two under their heather coverlid, and rubbed their eyes 
as the sun peeped through the " curtains of the east" — for these 
were the only bed-eurtains Shan More and his companions 
ever had — they stretched themselves and yawned, and felt 
very thirsty, for they had all been blind drunk the night 
before, be it remembered ; and Shan More, to use his own ex- 
pressive and poetic imagery, swore that his tongue was "as 
rough as a rat's back," while his companions went no farther 
than saying their's were as " dry as a lime burner's wig." 

We should not be so particular in these minute details but 
for that desire of truth which has guided us all through this 
veracious history ; and as in this scene, in particular, we feel 
ourselves sure to be held seriously responsible for every word, 
we are determined to be accurate to a nicety, and set down 
tvery syllable with stenographic strictness. 

'■ Where's the girl?" cried Shan, not yet sober. 

" She's asleep with your sisther," was the answer. 

"Downstairs?" inquired Shan. 

" Yes," said the other, who now knew that Big Jack was 
ft,, /e drunk than he at first thought him, by his using the 
words stairs; for Jack when he was drunk was very grand 
and called down the ladder, " down stairs.'' 

"Get me a drink o' wather," said Jack, "for I'm thun- 
dherin' thirsty, and can't deludher that girl with soft words 
till I wet my mouth." 

His attendant vagabond obeyed the order, and a large 
pitcher full of water was handed to the master, who heaved it 
upwards to his head and drank as audibly and nearly as much 
as a horse. Then holding his hands to receive the remaining 
contents of the pitcher, which his followers poured into his 
monstrous palms, he soused his face, which he afterwards 
wiped in a wisp of grass — the only towel of Jack's which 
was not then at the wash. 

Having thus made his toilet, Big Jack went down stairs, 
and as soon as his great bull-head had disappeared beneath 
the trap, one of the men above said, " We'll have a shillot 
soon, boys." 

And sure enough they did before long hear an extraordinary 
row. Jack first roared for Bridget, and no answer was re- 
turned ; the call was repeated with as little effect, and at last a 
most tremendous roar was heard above, but not from a female 
voice. Jack was heard beiow, swearing like a trooper, and in 
a minute or two, back he rushed "upstairs" and began cursing 
his myrmidons most awfully and foaming at the mouth with 


" What's the matther V cried the men. 

"Mattherl" roared Jack; "oh, you 'tarnal villains! 
You're a purty set to carry off a girl for a man — a purty job 
you've made of it !" 

" Arrah, didn't we bring her to you?" 

" Her, indeed — bring her — much good what you brought 
is to me !" 

" Tare an' ouns ! what's the matther at all ? We dunna 
vriiat you mane !" shouted the men, returning rage for rage. 

"Come down, and you'll see what's the matther," said 
Jack, descending the ladder; and the men hastened after 

He led the way to the farther end of the cabin, where a 
email glimmering of light was permitted to enter from the 
top, and lifting a tattered piece of canvas, which served as a 
screen to the bed, he exclaimed, with a curse, " Look there, 
you blackguards !" 

The men gave a shout of surprise, for — what do you think 
they saw 1 — An empty bed 1 


It may be remembered that, on Fathpr Phil's recommenda- 
tion, Andy was to be removed out of the country to place him 
beyond the reach of Larry Hogan's machinations, and that tho 
proposed journey to London afforded a good opportunity of 
taking him out of the way, Andy had been desired by Squire 
Egan to repair to Merryvale ; but as some days had elapsed 
and Andy had not made his appearance, the alarms of the 
Squire that Andy might be tampered with, began to revive, 
and Dick Dawson was therefore requested to call at the Widow 
Rooney's cabin as he was returning from the town, where some 
business with Murphy, about the petition against Scatterbrain's 
return, demanded his presence. 

Dick, as it happened, had no need to call at the widow's, 
for on his way to the town who should he see approaching but 
the renowned Andy himself. On coming up to him Dick 
pulled up his horse and Andy pulled off his hat- 

" God save your honour," said Andy. 

IIANJJX ahui. 367 

" Why didn't you come to Merryvale, as you were bid f" 
said Dick. 

" I couldn't, sir, becasc" — 

" Hold your tongue you thief ; you know you never can do 
what you're bid — you are always wrong - one way or other." 

'■ You're hard on me, Misther Dick." 

"Did you ever do anything' right? — I ask yourself!" 

" Indeed sir, this time it was a rale bit o' business I had 
to do." 

"And well you did it, no doubt. Did you marry any one 
lately,'" said Dick, with a waggish grin and a wink. 

" Faix, then, maybe I did," said Andy with a knowing nod. 

""And I hope Matty is well V said Dick. 

"Ah, Misther Dick, you're always goin'on with your jokin' 
so you are. So, you heerd o' that job, did you? Faix, a puny 
lady she is — oh, it's not her at all 1 am married to, but another 

" Another woman !" exclaimed Dick, in surprise. 

" Yis sir, another woman — a kind craythur." 

"Another woman!" reiterated Dick, laughing; "married 
to two women in two days ! Why you're worse than a Turk !" 

« Ah, Misther Dick !" 

" You Tarquin I" 

" Sure, sir, what harm's in it?" 


" Sure, it's no fault o' mine, sir." 

" Bigamy, by this and that, flat bigamy ! You'll only be 
hanged, as sure as your name's Andy." 

" Sure, let me tell you how it was, sir, and you'll see I am 
quit of all harm, good or bad. 'Twas a pack o' blackguards, 
you see, come to take off Oonah, sir." 

" Oh, a case of abduction !" 

" Yis, sir ; so the women dhressed me up as a girl, and the 
blackguards, instead ©t the seduction of Oonah, only seduced 

" Capital 1" cried Dick; "well done, Andy! And who 
seduced you ?" 

" Shan More, faith — no less." 

" Ho, ho ! a dangerous customer to play tricks on, Andy." ' 

" Sure enough, faith, and that's partly the rayson of what ,' 
happened ; but, by good luck, Big Jack was blind Shrunk when 
I got there, and I shammed screechin' so well that his sisther 
took pity on me, and said she'd keep me safe from harm in her 
own bed that night." 

Dick gave a " view hallo" when he heard this, and shouted 
with laughter, delighted at the thought of Shan More, instead 


of carrying off a girl for himself, introducing a gallant to his 
own sister. 

" Oh, now I see how you are married," said Dick; "that 
was the biter bit indeed." 

" Oh, the divil a bit I'd ha' bit her only for the cross luck 
with me, for I wanted to schame off out o' the place, and 
escape ; but she wouldn't let me, and cotch me and brought me 

" I should think she would, indeed," said Dick, laughing. 
"What next?" 

" Y/hy I drank a power o' punch, sir, and was off my guard, 
you see, and couldn't keep the saycret so well afther that and 
by dad she found it out." * 

" Just what I would expect of her," said Dick. 

" Well, do you know, sir, though the thrick was agen her 
own brother she laughed at it a power, and said I was a great 
divil, but that she couldn't blame me. So then I'd sthruv to 
coax her to let me make my escape, but she told me to wait 
a bit till the men above was faster asleep ; but while I was 
waitin' for them to go to sleep, faix, I went to sleep myself I 
was so tired ; and when Bridget, the craythur, 'woke me in the 
morning, she was cryin' like a spout afther a thunder-storm, 
and said her characther would be ruined when the story got 
abroad over the counthry, and sure she darn't face the world 
if I wouldn't make her an honest woman." 

" The brazen baggage !" said Dick; "and what did you say?" 

" Why what could any man say, sir, afther that ? Sure her 
karacther would be gone if — " 

" Gone," said Dick, "faith it might have gone farther before 
it fared worse." 

" Arrah ! what do you mane, Misther Dick ?" 

" Pooh, pooh ! Andy — you don't mean to say you married 
that one?" 

" Faix, I did," said Andy. 

" Well, Andy," said Dick, grinning-, " by the powers, you 
have done it this time! Good morning to you!" and Dick put 
spurs to his horse. 


A* dy, " knocked all of a heap," stood in the middle of the 
road, looking- after Dick as he cantered down the slope. It was 
seldom poor Andy was angry — but he felt a strong- sense of 
indignation choking - him as Dick's parting words still rung- in 
his ears. "What does he mane?" said Andy talking- aloud; 
"What does he mane?" he repeated; anxious to doubt and 
therefore question the obvious construction which Dick's words 
bore. " Misther Dick is fond of a joke and maybe this is one 
of his making-, but if it is, 'tis not a fair one, 'pon my sowl : a 
poor man nas his feelin's as well as a rich man. How would 
you likr. ycur cwn wife to be spoke of that way, Misther Dick, 
as proud as yen ride your horse there — humph 1" 

Andy, in great indignation, pursued his way towards his 
mother's cabin to ask her blessing upon his marriage. On his 
presenting himself there, both the old woman and Oonah were 
in great deligfci at witnessing his safe return; Oonah par- 
ticularly, for she, feeling that it was for her sake Andy placed 
himself in &ar»:fe ^ had been in a state of great anxiety for the 
result of the .^"estare, and on seeing him, absolutely threw 
herseli into hi- 'Ml?, and embraced him tenderly, impressing 
many a hearty >«s T<on his lips, between whiles that she 
vowed she would u -^°.. ^rget his generosity and courage, and 
ending with saying u-'V" .fas nothing she would not do for him. 

Xow Andy was fiesj and blood like other people, and as the 
showers of kisses from Oonah's ripe lips fell fast upon him he 
was not insensible to the embrace of so very pretty a girl — a girl, 
moreover, he had always had a "sneaking kindness" for, which 
Oonah's distance of manner alone had hitherto made him keep 
to himself; but now, when he saw her eyes beam gratitude, and 
her cheek flush, after her strong demonstration of regard, and 
heard her last words, so very like a hint to a shy man, it must 
be owned a sudden pang shot through poor Andy's heart, and 
he sickened at the thought of being married, which placed the 
tempting prize before him hopelessly be3 r ond his reach. 

He looked so blank, and seemed so unable to return Ounah's 
fond greeting, that she felt the pique which every pretty 
woman experiences who fancies her favours disregarded, and 
thought Andy the stupidest lout she ever came across. Turning 
up her hair, which had fallen down in the excess of her friend' 


ship, she walked out of the cottage, and, hiring ii<?r disdiinful 
lip, fairly cried for spite. 

In the meantime Andy popped down on his knees before 
ihe widow, and said, " Give me your blessing, mother !" 

" For what, you omadhawn?" said his mother, fiercely; for 
her woman's nature took part with Oonah's feelings, which she 
quite comprehended, and she was vexed with what she thought 
Andy's disgusting insensibility. " For what should I give you 
my blessing P" 

" Bekase I'm marri'd, ma'am." 

" What !" exclaimed the mother. " It's not marri'd again 
you are 1 You're jokin' sure." 

" Faix, it's no joke," said Andy, sadly , " I'm marri'd sure 
enough ; so give us your blessin', any how," cried he still 

" And who did you dar* for to marry, sir, if I make so bowld 
to ax, without my lave or license ?" 

"There was no time for axin' mother — 'twas done in a 
hurry and I can't help it, so give us your blessing at once." 

" Tell me who is she, before I give you my blessin' V 

" Shan Move's sister, ma'am." 

"What !" exclaimed the widow staggering back some paces, 
— " Shan More's sisther, did you say — Bridget rhua,* is it ?" 

" Yis, ma'am." 

" Oh, wirrasthru! — plillelew! — milliamurther!" shouted the 
mother, tearing her cap off her head, — " Oh blessed Vargin, 
holy St. Dominick, Pether an' Paul the 'possel, what'll I do ? — 
Oh, patther an' ave — you dirty bosthoon — blessed angels and 
holy marthyrs! — kneelin' there in the middle o' the flure aa 
if nothing happened — look down on me this day, a poor 
vartuous dissolute woman! — Oh, you disgrace to me and all 
belonging to you, — and is it the impidence to ask my 
blessin' you have, when it's a whippin' at the cart's tail you 
ought to get, you shameless scapegrace." 

She then went wringing her hands, and throwing them 
upwards in appeals to heaven, while Andy still kept kneeling 
in the middle of the cabin, lost in wonder. 

The widow ran to the door and called Oonah iii. 

" Who do you think that blackguard is marri'd to?" said the 

" Married !" exclaimed Oonah, growing pale. 

" Ay, marri'd, and who to, do you think r — why to Bridget 

Oonah screamed and clasped her hands. 

* Red-haired Tiridget. 


Andy got up at last, and asked what they were making 
bucIi a rout about; he wasn't the first man who married 
without asking his mother's leave ; and wanted to know what 
they had to " say agen it." 

"Oh, you barefaced scandal o' the world !" cried the widow, 
" to ax sitch a question — to marry a thrampin' sthreel like that 
— a great red-headed jack — " 

" She can't help her hair," said Andy. 

u I wish I could cut it off, and her head along with it, the 
sthrap ! Oh, blessed Vargin ! to have my daughter-in-law a — 

" What?" said Andy, getting rather alarmed. 

"That all the country knows is— " 

"What?" cried Andy. 

" Not a fair nor a market-town doesn't know her as well as 
— Oh, wirra ! wirra !* 

" Why you don't mane to say anything agen her carakther, 
do you?" said Andy. 

" Carakther, indeed 1" said his mother, with a sneer. 

" By this an' that," said Andy, " if she was the child unborn 
she couldn't make a greater hullabaloo about her carakther 
than she did the mornin' afther." 

" Afther what ? w said his mother. 

"Afther I was tuk away up to the hill beyant, and found 
her there but I believe I didn't tell you how it happened." 

" No," said Oonah, coming forward, deadly pale and listen- 
ing anxiously, with a look of deep pity in her soft eyes. 

Andy then related his adventure as the reader already 
knows it ; and when it was ended Oonah burst into tears and in 
passionate exclamations blamed herself for all that had happened, 
saying it wa3 in the endeavour to save her that Andy had lost 

" Oh, Oonah ! Oonah !" said Andy, with more meaning in 
his voice than the girl had ever heard before, " it isn't the loss 
of myself I mind but I've lost you too. Oh, if you had ever 
given me a tendher word or a look before this day 'twould 
never have happened, and that desaiver in the hills never could 
have deludhered me. And tell me, lanna machree, is my suspicions 
right in what I hear — tell me the worst at once — is she non 
compos f 

" Oh; I never heerd her called by that name before," sobbed 
Oonah, " but she has a great many others just as bad." 

"Ow! ow! owl" exclaimed Andy. "Now I know what 
Misther Dick laughed at ; well, death before dishonour — I'll go 
list fur a sojt-T and never live with herl" 



It has been necessary in an earlier chapter to notice the 

strange freaks madness will sometimes play. It was then the 
object to show how strong affections of the mind will recall an 
erring judgment to its true balance; but the action of the 
counterpoise growing weaker by time, the disease returns, and 
reason again kicks the beam. Such was the old dowager's 
case: the death of her son recalled her to herself; but a few 
day3 produced relapse, and she was as foolish as ever. Never- 
theless, as Polonius remarks of Hamlet , 

"There is method in his madness ;" 

so in the dowager's case there was method — not of a sane in 
tention, as the old courtier implies of the Danish Prince, but 
of iwsane birth — begot of a chivalrous feeling on an enfeebled 

To make this clearly understood it is necessary to call at 
tention to one other peculiarity of madness ; — that, while it 
makes those under its influence liable to say and enact all sorts 
of nonsense on some subjects, it never impairs their powers ol 
observation on those which chance to come within the reach of 
the undiseased portion of the mind ; and moreover, they are 
quite as capable of arriving at just conclusions upon what they 
so see and hear, as the most reasoning power is limited within a 
smaller compass, so the capability of observation becomes 
stronger by being concentrated. 

Such was the case with the old dowager, who, while Furlong 
was " doing devotion" to Augusta, and appeared the pink of 
faithful swains, saw very clearly that Furlong did not like it a 
bit and would gladly be off his bargain. Yea, while the people 
in their sober senses on the same plane with the parties were 
taken in, the old lunatic, even from the toppling height of her 
own mad chimney-pot, could look down and see that Furlong 
would not marry Augusta if he could help it. 

It was even so. Furlong had acted under the influence ol 
terror when poor Augusta, shoved into his bedroom through 
the devilment of that rascally imp, Ratty, and found there, 
through the evil destiny of Andy, was flung into his arms by 
her enraged father, and accepted as his wife. The immediate 
hurry of the election had delayed the marriage — the duel and 
its consequences further interrupted " the happy event" — and 


O'Grady's death caused a further postponement. It was deli- 
cately hinted to Furlong, that when matters had gone so far as 
to the wedding-dresses being ready, that the sooner the con- 
tracting parties under such circumstances were married, tho 
better. But Furlong, with that affectation of propriety which 
belongs to his time-serving tribe, pleaded the " regard to ap- 
pearances" — "so soon after the ever-to-be-deplored event," — 
and other such specious excuses, which were but covers to his 
own rascality, and used but to postpone the " wedding-day." The 
truth was, the moment Furlong had no longer the terrors of 
O'Grady's pistol before his eyes, he had resolved never to take 
so bad a match as that with Augusta appeared to be — indeed 
was, as far as regarded money ; though Furlong should only 
have been too glad to be permitted to mix his plebeian blood 
with the daughter of a man of high family, whose crippled 
circumstances and consequent truckling conduct had reduced 
him to the wretched necessity of making such a cur as Furlong 
the inmate of his house. But so it was. 

The family began at last to suspect the real state of the 
case, and all were surprised except the old dowager ; she had 
expected what was coming and had prepared herself for it. All 
her pistol practice was with a view to call Furlong to the " last 
arbitrement" for this slight to her house. Gusty was too young, 
she considered, for the duty ; therefore she, in her fantastic 
way of looking at the matter, looked upon herself as the head 
of the family, and, as such, determined to resent the affront 
put upon it. 

But of her real design the family at Neck-or-Nothing 
Hall had not the remotest notion. Of course, an old lady 
going about with a pistol, powder-flask, and bullets, and prac- 
tising on the trunks of the trees in the park, could not pasa 
without observation, and surmises there were on the subject ; 
then her occasional exclamation of " Tremble, villain !" would 
escape her ; and sometimes in the family circle, after sitting 
for a while in a state of abstraction, shewouldlift her attenuated 
hand armed with a knitting-needle or a ball of worsted, and, as- 
suming the action of poising a pistol, execute a smart click with 
her tongue, and say, " I hit him that time." 

These exclamations,indicative of vengeance, were supposed at 
length by the family to apply to Edward O'Connor, but excited 
pity rather than alarm. When, however, one morning, the 
dowager was nowhere to be found, and Ratty and the pistols 
had also disappeared, an inquiry was instituted as to the old 
lady's whereabouts, and Mount Eskar was one of the first 
places where she was sought, butwithout success; and all other 
inquiries were equally unavailing. 


The old lady had contrived, with that cunning peculiar to 
insane people, to get away from the house at an early hour in 
the morning, unknown to all except Ratty, to whom she con- 
fided her intention, and he managed to get her out of the 
domain unobserved, and thence together they proceeded to 
Dublin in a post-chaise. 

It was the day after this secret expedition was undertaken 
that Mr. Furlong was sitting in his private apartment at the 
Castle, doing " the state some service" by reading the morn- 
ing papers, which heavy official duty he relieved occasionally 
by turning to some scented notes which lay near a morocco 
writing-case, whence they had been drawn by the lisping 
dandy to flatter his vanity. He had been carrying on a corre- 
spondence with an anonymous fair one, in whose heart, if her 
words might be believed, Furlong had made desperate 

It happened, however, that these notes were all fictitious, 
being the work of Tom Loftus, who enjoyed playing on a 
puppy as much as playing on the organ ; and he had the satis-, 
faction of seeing Furlong going through his paces in certain 
squares he had appointed, wearing a flower of Tom's choice 
and going through other antics which Tom had demanded 
under the signature of " Phillis," written in a delicate hand, 
on pink satin note-paper with a lace border ; one of the last 
notes suggested the possibility of a visit from the lady, and 
after assurances of " secrecy and honour" had been returned 
by Furlong, he was anxiously expecting "what would become 
of it;" and filled with pleasing reflections of what " a devil of 
a fellcw" he was among the ladies, he occasionally paced the 
room before a handsome dressing-glass (with which his apart- 
ment was always furnished), and ran his fingers through his 
curls with a complacent smile. While thus occupied, and in 
such a frame of mind, the hall messenger entered the apart- 
ment, and said a lady wished to see him. 

"A lady !" exclaimed Furlong, in delighted surprise. 

41 She won't give her name, sir, but — " 

" Show her up ! show her up !" exclaimed the Lothario, 

All anxiety, he awaited the appearance of his donna ; and 
quite a donna she seemed, as a commanding figure, dressed in 
black, and enveloped in a rich veil of the same, glided into 
the room. 

" How vewy Spanish !" exclaimed Furlong, as he advanced 
to meet his incognita, who, as soon as she entered, locked the 
$«»or, and withdrew the key. 

" Quite pwactised in such secwet affairs," said Furlong 


slily. ' Fai' lady, allow me to touch you' fai' hand, and lead 
you to a seat." 

The mysterious stranger made no answer ; but lifting her 
long veil, turned round on the lisping dandy, who staggered 
back, when the dowager O'Grady appeared before him, drawn 
up to her full height, and anything but an agreeable expres- 
sion in her eye. She stalked up towards him, something in 
the style of a spectre in a romance, which she was not very 
unlike ; and as she advanced, he retreated, until he got the 
table between him and this most unwelcome apparition. 

"lam come," said the dowager, with an ominous tone of 

" Vewy happy of the hono', I am sure, Mistwess O'Gwady," 
faltered Furlong. 

" The avenger has come." Furlong opened his eyes. '- 1 
have come to wash the stain !'' said she, tapping her fingers in 
a theatrical manner, on the table, and, as it happened, she 
pointed to a large blotch of ink on the table-cover. Furlong 
opened his eyes wider than ever, and thought this the queerest 
bit of madness he ever heard of; however, thinking it best to 
humour her, he answered, " Yes, it was a little awkwa'dness of 
mine — I upset the inkstand the othe' day.'' 

"Do you mock me, sir?" said she, with increasing bitter- 

" La, no ! Mistwess O'Gwady." 

" I have come, I say, to wash out in your blood the stain 
you have dared to put on the name of O'Grady." 

Furlong gasped with mingled amazement and fear. 

" Tremble, villain !" she said ; and she pointed toward him 
her long attenuated finger with portentous solemnity. 

" I weally am quite at a loss, Mistwess O'Gwady, to com- 
pwehend — " 

Before he could finish his sentence, the dowager had drawn 
from the depths of her side pockets a brace of pistols, and 
presenting them to Furlong, said, " Be at a loss no longer, 
except the loss of life which may ensue : take your choice of 
weapons, sir.'' 

" Gwacious Heaven !" exclaimed Furlong, trembling from 
head to foot. 

"You won't choose, then?" said the dowager. "WelL 
there's one for you ;" and she laid a pistol before him with as 
courteous a manner as if she were making him a birthday 

Furlong stared down upon it with a look of horror. 

"Now we must toss for choice of ground,'' said th« 
dowager. « I have no money about me, for I paid my iasS 


half-crown to the post-boy, but this will do as well for a toss 
as anything else ; " and she laid her hands on the dressing- 
glass as she spoke. " Now the call shall be ' safe,' or ' smash ; 
whoever calls 'safe,' if the glass comes down unbroken, has the 
choice, and vice versa. I call first — ' Smash"' said the dowager, 
as she flung up the dressing-glass, which fell in shivers on the 
floor. " I have won," said she ; " oblige me, sir, by standing 
in that far corner. I have the light in my back — and you will 
have something else in yours before long ; take your ground, 

Furlong, finding himself thus cooped up with a mad woman 
in an agony of terror suddenly bethought himself of instances 
he had heard ot escape, under similar circumstances, by coin- 
ciding to a certain extent with the views of the insane people, 
and suggested to the dowager that he hoped she would not 
insist on a duel without their having a " friend" present. 

" I beg your pardon, sir," said the old lady ; " I quite 
forgot that form, in the excitement of the moment, though I 
have not overlooked the necessity altogether, and have come 
provided with one." 

"Allow me to wing for him," said Furlong, rushing to the 

" Stop !" exclaimed the dowager, levelling her pistol at the 
bell-pull ; "touch it, and you are a dead man !" 

Furlong stood riveted to the spot where his rush had been 

"No interruption, sir, till this little affair is settled. Here 
is my friend," she added, putting her hand into her pocket and 
pulling out the wooden cuckoo of her clock. " My little bird, 
sir, will see fair between us ;" and she perched the painted 
wooden thing, with a bit of feather grotesquely sticking up 
out of its nether end, on the morocco letter-case. 

"Oh, Lord!" said Furlong. 

"He's a gentleman of the nicest honour, sir!" said the 
dowager, pacing back to the window. 

Furlong took advantage of the opportunity of her back being 
turned, and rushed at the bell, which he pulled with great 

The dowager wheeled round with haste. " So you have 
rung," said she, " but it shall not avail you — the door is locked; 
take your weapon, sir — quick! — what! — a coward!" 

"Weally, Mistwess O'Gwady, I cannot think of deadly 
arbitrament with a lady." 

" Less would you like it with a man, poltroon!" said she, 
with an exaggerated expression of contempt in her manner 
" However," she added. " if you are a coward, you shall havs 

e, coward's punishment." She went to a corner where stood a 
great variety of handsome canes, and laying hold of one, began 
soundly to thrash Furlong, who feared to make any resistance 
or attempt to disarm her ot the cane, for the pistol was yet in 
her other hand 

The bell was answered by the servant, who, on finding the 
door locked, and hearing the row inside, began to knock and 
inquire loudly what was the matter. The question was more 
loudly answered by Furlong, who roared out "Bweak the door! 
bweak the door!" interlarding his directions with cries-' of 

The dooi at length was forced, Furlong rescued, and the 
old lady separated from him. She became perfectly calm the 
moment other persons appeared, and was replacing the pistols 
in her pocket, when Furlong requested the "dweadful weapons" 
might be seized. The old lady gave up the pistols very quietly, 
but laid hold of her bird and put it back into her pocket. 

" This is a dweadful violation!" said Furlong, "and my life 
is not safe unless she is bound ove' to keep the peace." 

" Pooh ! pooh !'' said one of the gentlemen from the adjacent 
office, who cameto the scene on hearing the uproar, "binding 
over an old lady to keep the peace — nonsense!" 

" I insist upon it," said Furlong, with that stubbornness 
for which fools are so remarkable. 

" Oh — very well I" said the sensible gentleman, who left the 

A party, pursuant to Furlong's determination, proceeded 
to the head police-office close by the Castle, and a large mob 
gathered as they went down Cork-hill and followed them to 
Exchange-court, where they crowded before them in front of 
the office, so that it was with difficulty the principals could 
make their way through the dense mass. 

At length, however, they entered the office; and when 
Major Sir heard any gentleman attached to the Governmen 
wanted his assistance, of course he put any other case asid 
and had the accuser and accused called up before him. 

Furlong made his charge of assault and battery, with inten 
to murder, &c, &c. 

" Some mad old rebel, I suppose," said Major Sir. "Do 
you remember '98, ma'am?" said the major. 

" Indeed I do, sir — and I remember yon too ; Major Sir I 
have the honour to address, if I don't mistake." 

"Yes. ma'am. What then?" 

*' I remember well in 'i)H when you were searching for 
rebels, "■' "i thought a man was concealed in a dairy yard in the 
iiei^hlx urhoo.l of my mother's house, major, ia Stephen's 

° 25 


Green ; and you thought he was hid in a hay-rick, and ordered 
your sergeant to ask for the loan of a spit from my mother s 
kitchen to probe the haystack." 

" Oh! then, madam, your mother was loyal, I suppose." 

" Most loyal, sir." 

" Give the lady a chair," said the major. 

"Thank you, I don't want it — but, major, when you asked 
for the spit, my mother thought you were going to practise 
one of your delightfully ingenious bits of punishment, and 
asked the sergeant who it was you were going to roast?" 

The major grew livid on the bench where he sat, at this awk- 
ward reminiscence of one of his friends, and a dead silence 
reigned through the crowded office. He recovered himself, 
however, and addressed Mrs. O'Grady in a mumbling manner, 
telling her she must give security to keep the peace, herself 
— and find friends as sureties. On asking her had she any 
friends to appear for her, she declared she had. 

" A gentleman of the nicest honour, sir," said the dowager, 
pulling her cuckoo from her pocket and holding it up in view 
of the whole office. 

A shout of laughter, of course, followed. The affair be- 
came at once understood in its true light ; a mad old lady — a 
paltry coward — &c, &c. Those who know the excitability 
and fun of an Irish mob will not wonder that, when the story 
got circulated from the office to the crowd without, which it 
did with lightning rapidity, the old lady, on being placed in a 
hackney-coach which was sent for, was hailed with a chorus of 
"Cuckoo!" by the multitude, one half of which ran after the 
coach as long as they could keep pace with it, shouting forth 
the spring-time call, and the other half followed Furlong to 
the Castle, with hisses and other more articulate demonstrations 
of their contempt, 


The fat and fair widow Flanagan had, at length, given np 
shilly shallying, and yielding to the fervent entreaties of Tom 
Duriy, had consented to name the happy day. She mould 
have' some little ways of her own about it, however, and in- 
stead of being waxried in the country insisted on the nupti;;! 

HAKDr AND! 379 

knot being tied in Dublin. Thither the widow repaired with 
her swain to complete the stipulated time of residence within 
some metropolitan parish before the wedding could take place. 
In the meanwhile they enjoyed all the gaiety the capital pre- 
sented, the time glided swiftly by, and Tom was within a d,u> 
of being made a happy man, when, as he was hastening to the 
Jodgings of the fair widow, who was waiting with her bonnet 
and shawl on to be escorted to the botanical gardens at Glas- 
nevin, he was accosted by an odd-looking person of so^ae'vbat 
sinister aspect. 

" I believe I have the honour of addressing Mister Ih;;fy ; 
sir?" Tom answered in the affirmative. " Thomas Durfy, 
Esquire, I think, sir 1" 


" This is for you, sir," he said, handing Tom a piece of 
dirty printed paper, and at the same time laying his hand on 
Tom's shoulder and executing a smirking sort of grin, which 
he meant to be the pattern of politeness, added, " You'll ex- 
cuse me, sir, but I arrest you under a warrant from the High 
Sheriff of the city of Dublin ; always sorry, sir, for a gintle- 
man in defficulties, but it's my duty.'' 

" You're a bailiff, then V said Tom, 

" Sir," said the bum, 

" ' Honour and shame from no condition rise; 
Act well your part — there all the honour lies.' " 

" I meant no offence," said Tom. " I only meant — " 

" I understand, sir — I understand. These little defficulties 
startles gintlemen at first — you've not been used to arrest, I 
see, sir?'' 

" Never in my life did such a thing happen before," said 
Tom. "I live generally, thank God, where a bailiff daren't 
show his face." 

" Ah, sir," said the bailiff with a grin, " them rustic habits 
betrays the children o' nature often w T hen they come to town ; 
but we are so Jistieatcd here in the metropolis, that we lay our 
hands on strangers aisy. But you'd better not stand in the 
street, sir, or people will understand it's an arrest, sir ; and I 
suppose you wouldn't like the exposure. I can simperise in a 
giiitleman's feelings, sir. If you walk aisy on, sir, and 
don't attempt to escape, or rescue, I'll keep a gentlemanlike 

Tom walked on in great perplexity for a few steps, not 
knowing what to do. The hour of his rendezvous had struck j 
he knew how impatient of neglect the widow always was ; he 


at one moment thought of asking the bailiff to allow him to 
proceed to hei lodgings at once, there boldly to avow what had 
taken place and ask her to discharge the debt; but this his 
pride would not allow him to do. As he came to the corner of 
a street he got a tap on the elbow from the bailiff, who, with a 
jerking motion of his thumb and a wink, said in a confidential 
tone to Tom, " Down this street, sir — that's the way to the 
pres'n (prison)." 

" Prison !" exclaimed Tom, halting involuntarily at the 

" Shove on, sir — shove on !" hastily repeated the sheriff's 
officer, urging his orders by a nudge or two on Tom's 

" Don't shove me, sir !" said Tom, rather angrily, " or 
byG— " 

" Aisy, sir — aisy!" said the bailiff; "though I feel for the 
defficulties of a gintleman the caption must be made, sir. It 
you don't like the pris'n I have a nice little room o' my own, 
sir, where you can wait, for a small consideration, until you 
get bail." 

" I'll go there, then," said Tom. " Go through as privat* 
streets as you can." 

" Give me half-a-guinea for my trouble, sir, and I'll ambu- 
late you through lanes every fut o' the way." 

<"' Very well," said Toim 

They now struck into a shabby street, and thence wended 
through stable lanes, filthy alleys, up greasy broken steps,through 
one close, and down steps in another — threaded dark passages 
whose debouchures were blocked up with posts to prevent 
vehicular conveyance, the accumulated dirt of years sensible to 
the tread from its lumpy unevenness, and the stagnant air rife 
with pestilence. Tom felt increasing disgust at every step he 
proceeded, but anything to him appeared better than being seen 
in the public streets in such company ; for, until they got into 
these labyrinths of nastiness, Tom thought he saw in the looks 
of every passer-by, as plainly told as if the words were spoken, 
" There goes a fellow under the care of the bailiff." In these 
by-ways, he had not any objection to speak to his com- 
panion, and for the first time asked him what he was arrested 

" At the suit of Mr. M'Kail, sir." 

" Oh ! the tailor?" said Tom. 

" Yes, sir," said the bailiff. " And if you would not con- 
eider it trifling with the feelings of a gintleman in defficulties, 
I would make the playful observation, sir, that it's quite in 
character to be arrested at the suit of a tailor. He! he I he!" 


" You're a wag-, I see," said Tom. 

" Oh no, sir, only a poetic turn, a small affection I have cer 
tainly for Judy Mot, but my rale passion is the muses. We 
are not far now, sir, from my litttle bower of repose — which 
js the name I give my humble abode — small, but snug-, sir. 
You'll see another gin'tlemen there, sir, before you. He is 
waitin' for bail these three or four days, sir — can't pay as lie 
ought for the 'commodation, but he's a friend o' mine, I may 
almost say, sir — a litherary gintleman — them litherary gintle- 
men is always in defficulties mostly. I suppose you're a litherary 
gintlemen,sir — though you're rather ginteelydhressed for oner' 

"No," said Tom, "I'm not." 

" I thought you wor, sir, by being acquainted with this other 

" An acquaintance of mine !" said Tom, with surprise. 

" Yis, si*. In short it was through him I found out where 
you wor, oif, I have had the wret agen you for some time, 
but couldn't make you off, till my friend says I must carry a 
note for him to you." 

" Where is the note?" inquired Tom. 

" Not ready yet, sir. It's po'thry he's writin' — something 
'pithy' he said, and 'lame' too. I dunnahowa thing could 
be pithy and lame together, but them potes has hard words at 

"Then you came away without the note?'' 

"Yis, sir. As soon as I found out where you wor stop- 
ping I ran off directly on Mr. M'Kail's little business. " You'll 
excuse the liberty, sir ; but we must all mind our professions ; 
though, indeed, sir, if you b'lieve me, I'd rather nab a rhyme 
than a gintleman any day ; and if I could get on the press I'd 
quit the shoulder-tapping profession." 

Tom cast an eye of wonder on the bailiff, which the latter 
comprehended at once ; for with habitual nimbleness he could 
nab a man's thoughts as fast as his person. 

" I know what your're thinkin', sir — could one of my pro- 
fession pursue the muses ? Don't think, sir, I mane I could 
write the ' laders' or the pollitik'l articles, but the criminal 3ases, 
sir — the robberies and ofEnces — with the watchhouse cases — 
together with a little po'thry now and then. I think I could 
be useful, sir, and do better than some of the chaps that pick up 
their ha'pence that way. But here's my place, sir — my little 
bower of repose.'' 

He knocked at the door of a small tumble-down house in 
a filthy lane, the one window it presented in front being barred 
with iron. Some bolts were drawn inside, and though the man 
who opened the door was forbidding* in his aspect, he did not 


refuse to let Tom in. The portal was hastily closed and bolted 
after they had entered. The smell of the house was pesti- 
lential — the entry dead dark. 

"Give me your hand, sir," said the bailiff, leading Tom 
forward. They ascended some creaking stairs, and the bailiff, 
fumbling for some time with a key at a door, unlocked it and 
shoved it open and then led in his captive. Tom saw a shabby- 
genteel sort of person, whose back was towards him, directing 
a letter. 

" Ah, Goggins !" said the writer, " you're come back in the 
nick of time. I have finished now, and you may take the 
letter to Mister Durfy." 

" You may give it to him yourself, sir," replied Goggins, 
'for here he is." 

" Indeed!" said the writer turning round. 

"What!" exclaimed Tom Durfy, in surprise; "James 

" Even so," said James, with a sentimental air : 

'"The paths of glory lead but to the grave.' 

Literature is a bad trade, my dear Tom ! — 'tis an ungrateful 
world — men of the highest aspirations may lie in gaol for all 
she world cares; not that you come within the pale of the 
worthless ones ; this is good-natured of you to come and see 
a 'friend in trouble. You deserve, my dear Tom, that you 
should have been uppermost in my thoughts ; for here is a note 
I have just written to you, enclosing a copy of verses to ycu 
on your marriage — in short, it is an epithalamium." 

"That's what I told you, sir," said Goggins to Tom. 

" May the divil burn you and your epithalamium !" said Tom 
Durfy, stamping round the little room. 

James Roddy stared in wonder, and Goggins roared, laughing. 

"A pretty compliment you've paid me, Mister Reddy, 
this fine morning," said Tom ; "you tell a bailiff where I live, 
that you may send your infernal verses to me, and you get me 

" Oh, murder I" exclaimed James. " I'm very sorry, my 
dear Tom ; but, at the same time, 'tis a capital incident! How 
it would work up in a farce !" 

" How funny it is!" said Tom in a rage, eyeing James as 
if he could have eaten him. " Bad luck to all poetry and 
poetasters ! By the 'tarnal war, I wish every poet, from Homer 
down, was put into a morta^ and pounded to death ! " 

James poured forth expressions of sorrow for the mis- 
chance ; and extremely ludicrous it wa3 to see one man making 
apologies for trying to pay his friend a compliment ; his friend 


swearing at him for his civility, and the bailiff grinning at their 

In this triangular dilemma we will leave them foi tiie 



Eeward O'Connok, on hearing from Gustavus of the oia 
dowager's disappearance from Neck-or-N"othing Hall, joined 
in the eager inquiries which were made about her, and his 
being directed with more method and judgment than those of 
others, their result was rnore satisfactory. He soon " took up 
the trail," to use an Indian phrase, and he and Gusty were not 
many hours in posting after tho old lady. They arrived in 
town early in the morning and lost no time in casting about 
for information. 

One of the first places Edward inquired at was the inn 
where the postchaise generally drove to from the house where 
the old dowager had obtained her carriage in the country ; 
but there no trace was to be had. Next, the principal hotels 
were referred to, but as yet without success ; when, as they 
turned into one of the leading streets in continuance of their 
search, their attention was attracted by a crowd swaying to 
and fro in that peculiar manner which indicates there is a fight 
inside of it. Great excitement prevailed on the verge of the 
crowd, where exclamations escaped from those who could get 
a peep at the fight. 

" The little chap has great heart ! " cried one, 

" But the sweep is the biggest," said anotho?. 

"Well done, Horish]"* cried a blackguatfd, who enjoyed 
the triumph of his fellow. 

"Bravo! little fellow," rejoined a genteoter person, who 
rejoiced in some successful hit of the other cost! atant. There 
is an inherent love in men to see a fight, rhich Edward 
O'Connor shared with inferior men; and if he had not 
peeped into the ring, most assuredly Gustjf \iould. What 
was there astonishmentwhen they got a glimpse el the pugilists, 
to perceive Ratty was .one of them — his antagonist being a 

* The name of a celebrated sweep in Ireland, whose name is applied 
to the whole 


Eweep, taller by a head, and no bad hand at tho "nobla 
Kci ence." 

Edward's first impulse was to separate them, but Gusty 
requested he would not, saying that he saw by Ratty 's eye he 
was able to " lick the fellow.'' Ratty certainly showed great 
light ; what the sweep had in superior size was equalized by 
the superior "game" of the gentleman boy, to whom the 
indomitable courage of a high-blooded race had descended, 
and who would sooner have died than yield. Besides, Ratty 
■was not deficient in the use of his "bunch of fives," hit hard 
for his size, and was very agile : the sweep sometimes made a 
r sh, grappled, and got a fall ; but he never went in without 
getting something from Ratty to " remember him," and was 
not always uppermost. At last, both were so far punished, 
and the combat not being likely to be speedily ended (for the 
sweep was no craven), that the bystanders interfered, declaring 
that " they ought to be separated," — and they were. 

While the crowd was dispersing, Edward called a coach ; 
and before Ratty could comprehend how the affair was 
managed, he was shoved into it and driven from the scene ot 
action. Ratty had a confused sense of hearing loud shouts — 
of being lifted somewhere — of directions given — the rattle of 
iron steps clinking sharply — two or three fierce bangs of a door 
that wouldn't shut, and then an awful shaking, which roused him 
up from the corner of the vehicle into which he had fallen in 
the first moment of exhaustion. Ratty " shook his feathers," 
dragged his hair from out of his eyes, which were getting very 
black indeed, and applied his handkei'chief to his nose, which 
was much in need of that delicate attention ; and when the 
sense of perfect vision was restored to him, which was not for 
some time (all the colours of the rainbow dancing before Ratty's 
eyes for many seconds after the fight), what was his surprise 
to see Edward O'Connor and Gusty sitting on the opposite 
scat ! 

It was some time before Ratty could quite comprehend his 
present situation, but as soon as he was made sensible of it, and 
could answer, the first questions asked of him were about his 
grandmother. Batty fortunately remembered the name of the 
hotel where she put up, though he had left it as soon as the 
old lady proceeded to the Castle — had lost his way — and 
got engaged in a quarrel with a sweep in the meantime. 

The coach was ordered to drive to the hotel named ; and 
how the fight occurred was the next question. 

" The sweep was passing by, and I called him ' snow-ball/ " 
said Ratty; "and the blackguard returned an imcudeat 
answer, and I hit him." 


"■ You had no right to call him ' snow-ball,' " said 

"I always called the sweeps 'snow-ball' down at the Hall," 
said Hatty, "and they never answered." 

" When you are on your own territory you may say what 
you please to your dependents, Ratty, and they dare not 
answer ; or, to use a vulgar saying, ' A cock may crow on his 
own dunghill.' '' 

" I'm no dunghill cock ! " said Ratty, fiercely. 

" Indeed, you're not," said Edward, laying his hand kindly 
on the boy's shoulder ; " you have plenty of courage." 

" I'd have licked him," said Ratty, " if they'd have let me 
have two or three rounds more." 

"My dear boy, other things are needful in this world 
besides courage. Prudence, temper, and forbearance are re- 
quired ; and this may be a lesson to you, to remember, that 
.vhen you get abroad in the world, you are very little cared 
about, however great your consequence may be at home ; and 
I am sure you cannot be proud about your having got into a 
quarrel with a sweep." 

Ratty made no answer — his blood began to cool — he became 
every moment more sensible that he had received heavy blows. 
His eyes became more swollen, he snuffled more in his speech, 
and his blackened condition altogether, from gutter, soot, and 
thrashing, convinced him a fight with a sweep was not an 
enviable achievement. 

The coach drew up at the hotel. Edward left Gusty to 
see about the dowager, and made an appointment for Gusty to 
meet him at their own lodgings in an hour ; while he in the 
interim should call on Dick Dawson, who was in town on his 
way to London. 

Edward shook hands with Ratty and bade him kindly 
good-bye. " You're a stout fellow, Ratty," said he, " but remem- 
ber this old saying, ' Quarrelsome dogs get dirty coats.' 1 " 

Edward now proceeded to Dick's lodgings and found him 
engaged in reading a note from Tom Durfy, dated from the 
" Bower of Repose," and requesting Dick's aid in his present 

" Here's a pretty kettle of fish," said Dick : " Tom Durfy, 
who is engaged to dine with me to-day to take leave of his 
bachelor life, as he is going to be married to-morrow, is arrested, 
and now in quod, and wants me to bail him." 

"The shortest way is to pay the money at once," said 
Edward; "is it much?" 

" That I don't know ; but I have not a great deal about 
me, and what I have I want for my journey to London 


and my expenses there — not but what I'd help Tom if I 

" He must not be allowed to remain there, however we 
manage to get him out," said Edward; "perhaps I can help 
you in the affair." 

"You're always a good fellow, Ned," said Dick, shaking 
his hand warmly. ; 

Edward escaped from hearing any praise of himself by 
proposing they should repair at once to the sponging-house, 
and see how matters stood. Dick lamented he should be called 
away at such a moment, for he was just going to get his wine 
ready for the party — -particularly some champagne, which he 
was desirous of seeing well iced ; but as he could not wait to 
do it himself, he called Andy, to give him directions about it, 
and set off with Edward to the relief of Tom Durfy. 

Andy was once more in service in the Egan family ; for the 
Squire, on finding him still more closely linked by his marriage 
with the desperate party whose influence over Andy was to be 
dreaded, took advantage of Andy's disgust against the woman 
who had entrapped him, and offered to take him off to London 
instead of enlisting ; and. as Andy believed he would be there 
sufficiently out of the way of the false Bridget, he came off at 
once to Dublin with Dick, who was the pioneer of the party to 

Dick gave Andy the necessary directions for icing the 
jhampagne, which he set apart and pointed out most parti- 
cularly to our hero, lest he should make a mistake and per- 
chance ice the port instead. 

After Edward and Dick had gone, Andy commenced 
operations according to orders. He brought a large tub up 
stairs containing rough ice, which excited Andy's wonder, for 
he never had known till now that ice was preserved for and 
applied to such a use, for an ice-house did not happen to be 
attached to any establishment in which he had served. 

" Well, this is the quarest thing I ever heerd of," said Andy. 
" Musha ! what outlandish inventions the quolity has among 
them ! They're not contint with wine, but they must have 
ice along with it — and in a tub, too ! — just like pigs ! — throth 
it's a dirty thrick, I think. Well, here goes !" said he ; and 
Andy opened a bottle of champagne, and poured it into the tub 
with the ice. " How it fizzes ! " said Andy. " Faix, it's almost 
as lively as the soda-wather that bothered me long ago. Well, 
I know more about things now ; sure it's wondherful how a 
man improves with practice !" — and another bottle of cham- 
pagne was emptied into the tub as he spoke. Thus, with several 
>»ther complacent comments uoo^ his own proficiency, Andy 


poured half-a-dozen of champagne into the tub of ice, and re- 
marked when he had finished his work, that he thought it would 
be "mighty cowld on their stomachs." 

Dick and Edward all this time were on their way to the 
relief of Tom Durfy, who, though he had cooled clown from the 
boiling pitch to which the misadventure of the morning had 
raised him, was still simmering, with his elbows planted on the 
rickety table in Mr. Goggins' " bower," and his chin resting on 
his clenched hands. It was the very state of mind in which 
Tom was most dangerous. 

At the other side of the table sat James Reddy, intently em- 
ployed in writing ; his pursed mouth and knitted brows bespoke a 
labouring state of thought, and the various crossings, interlinings, 
and blottings, gave additional evidence of the same, while now 
and then a rush at a line which was knocked off in hurry, with 
slashing dashes of the pen, and fierce after-crossings of fs, and 
determined dottings of i's, declared some thought suddenly 
seized, and executed with bitter triumph. 

" You seem very happy in yourself in what you are writing," 
said Tom. "What is it? Is it another epithalamium ?" 

" It is a caustic article against the successful men of the 
day," said Reddy; "they have no merit, sir — none. 'Tis 
nothing but luck has placed them where they are, and they 
ought to be exposed.'' lie then threw down his pen as he 
spoke, and after a silence of some minutes, suddenly put this 
question to Tom : 

"What do you think of the world?" 

"Faith I think it so pleasant a place," said Tom, "that I'm 
confoundedly vexed at being kept out of it by being locked up 
here ; and that cursed bailiff is so provokingly free-and-easy — 
coming in here every ten minutes, and making himself at home." 

" Why,as for that matter,it is his home, you must remember." 

" But while a gentleman is here for a period," said Tom, 
" this room ought to be considered his, and that fellow has no 
business here — and then his bows and scrapes, and talking 
about the feelings of a gentleman, and all that — 'tis enough to 
make a dog beat his father. Curse him! I'd like to choke 

" Oh ! that's merely his manner," said James. 

" Want of manners, you mean," said Tom. " Hang me, if 
he comes up to me with his rascally familiarity again, but I'll 
Kick him down stairs." 

" My dear fellow, you are excited," said Reddy ; " don't 
£t these sublunary trifles ruffle your temper — you see how 1 
oear it; and to recall you to yourself, I will remind you of the 


question we started from, 'What do you think of the world?' 
There's a general question — a broad question, upon which one 
may talk with temper and soar above the petty grievances of 
life in the grand consideration of so ample a subject. You see 
me here, a prisoner like yourself, but I can talk of the world 
Come, be a calm philosopher, like me ! Answer, what do you 
think of the world?" 

"I've told you already," said Tom; "it's a capital place, 
only for the bailiffs." 

" I can't agree with you," said James. " I think it one vast 
pool of stagnant wretchedness, where the malaria of injus- 
tice holds her scales suspended, to poison rising talent by giving 
an undue weight to existing prejudices." 

To this lucid and good-tempered piece of philosophy, Tom 
could only answer, "You know I am no poet, and I cannot 
argue with you ; but, 'pon my soul, I have known, and do know 
some uncommon good fellows in the world." 

"You're wrong, you're wrong, my unsuspecting friend. 
'Tis a bad world, and no place for susceptible minds. Jealousy 
pursues talent like its shadow — superiority alone wins for you 
the hatred of inferior men. For instance, why am i" here ? 
The editor of my paper will not allow my articles always to 
appear ; — prevents their insertion, lest the effect they would 
make would cause inquiry, and tend to my distinction ; and 
the consequence is, that the paper 7" came to uphold m Dublin, 
is deprived of my articles, and /don't get paid; while /see 
inferior men, without asking for it, loaded with favour ; they 
are abroad in affluence, and / in captivity and poverty. But 
one comfort is, even in disgrace, I can write, and they 
shall get a slashing." 

Thus spoke the calm philosopher, who gave Tom a lecture 
on patience. 

Tom was no great conjuror, but at that moment, like 
Audrey, " he thanked the gods he was not poetical." If there 
be any one thing more than another to make an " every-day 
man" content with his average lot, it is the exhibition of 
ambitious inferiority, striving for distinction it can never 
attain; just given sufficient perception to desire the glory of 
success, without power to measure the strength that can achieve 
it ; like some poor fly, which beats its head against a pane ol 
glass, seeing the sunshine beyond, but incapable of perceiving 
the subtle medium which intervenes — too delicate for its limited 
sense to comprehend, but too strong for its limited power to 

But though Tom felt satisfaction at that moment, he had 
too good feeling to wound the self-love of the vain creature 

m±j*.j.t,jj i Artui. 


before Liui ; so, instead of speaking what he thought, viz., 
" What business have you to attempt literature, you conceited 
fool r" he tried to wean him civilly from his folly by saying, 
" Then come back to the country, James ; if you find jealous 
rivals here, you know you were always admired there." 

"Xo, sir!" said James; "even there my merit was un- 

" No ! no !" said Tom. 

" Well, underrated, at least. Even there, that Edward 
O'Connor, somehow or other, I never could tell why — I never 
saw his great talents — but somehow or other, people got it 
into their heads that he was clever." 

" I tell you what it is," said Tom, earnestly, " Ned-of-the- 
Hill has got into a better place than people's heads — he has 
got into their hearts !" 

" There it is !" exclaimed James, indignantly. " You have 
caught up the cuckoo-cry — the heart ! Why, sir, what merit i3 
there in writing about feelings which any common labourer 
can comprehend? There's no poetry in that; true poetry lies 
in a higher sphere, where you have difficulty in following the 
flight of the poet, and possibly may not be fortunate enough to 
understand him — that's poetry, sir." 

" I told you I am no poet," said Tom ; " but all I know is, 
I have felt my heart warm to some of Edward's songs, and, by 
jingo ! I have seen the women's eyes glisten, and their cheeks 
flush or grow pale, as they have heard them — and that's poetry 
enough for me." 

" Well, let Mister O'Connor enjoy his popularity, sir — if 
popularity it may be called, in a small country circle — let him 
enjoy it — I don't envy him his, though I think he was rather 
jealous about mine." 

" Ned jealous !" exclaimed Tom, in surprise. 

" Yes, jealous ; I never heard him say a kind word of any 
verses I ever wrote in my life ; and I am certain he has most 
unkind feelings towards me." 

"I tell you what it is," said Tom, "getting up" a bit ; "I 
told you I don't understand poetry, but I do understand what's 
an infinitely better thing, and that's fine, generous, manly 
feeling ; and if there's a human being in the world incapable 
of wronging another in his mind or heart, or readier to help 
his fellow-man, it is Edward O'Connor ; so say no more, James, 
if you please." 

Tom had scarcely uttered the last word, when the key was 
turned in the door. 

"Here's that infernal bailiff agaiA'" said Tom, whose 


irritability, increased by Reddy's paltry egotism and injustice, 
was at its boiling pitch once more. He planted himself firmly 
in his chair, and putting on his fiercest frown, was determined 
to confront Mister Goggins with an aspect that should aston- 
ish him. 

The door opened, and Mister Goggins made his appearance, 
presenting to the gentlemen in the room the hinder portion of 
his person, which made several indications of courtesy per- 
formed by the other half of his body, wM. i he uttered the 
words, " Don't be astonished, gentlemen ; you'll be used to it by 
and by." And with these words he kept backing towards Tom. 
making these nether demonstrations of civility, till Tom could 
plainly see the seams in the back of Mr. Goggins' pantaloons 

Tom thought this was some new touch of the " free-and 
easy" on Mister Goggins' part, and losing all command of him- 
self, he jumped from his chair, and with a vigorous kick gave 
Mister Goggins such a lively impression of his desire that he 
should leave the room, that Mister Goggins went head fore- 
most down the stairs, pitching his whole weight upon Dick 
Dawson and Edward O'Connor, who were ascending the dark 
stairs, and to whom all his bows had been addressed. Over- 
whelmed with astonishment and twelve stone of bailiff, they 
were thrown back into the hall, and an immense aproar in the 
passage ensued. 

Edward and Dick were near coming in for some hard usage 
from Goggins, conceiving it might be a preconcerted attempt 
on the part of his prisoners and their newly-arrived friends to 
achieve a rescue ; and while he was rolling about on the ground, 
he roared to his evil-visaged janitor to look to the door first, 
and keep him from being " murthered" after. 

Fortunately no evil consequences ensued, until matters 
could be explained in the hall, and Edward and Dick were 
introduced to the upper room, from which Goggins had been 
bo suddenly ejected. 

There the bailiff demanded in a very angry tone the cause 
of Tom's conduct ; and when it was found to be only a mutual 
misunderstanding — that Goggins wouldn't take a liberty with 
a gentleman "in defficulties" for the world, and that Tom 
wouldn't hurt a fly, only " under a mistake" — matters were 
cleared up to the satisfaction of all parties, and the real busi- 
ness of the meeting commenced : — that was, to pay Tom's debt 
out of hand ; and when the bailiff saw all demands, fees in- 
cluded, cleared off, the clouds from his brow cleared off also, 
he wasthe most amiable of sheriff's officers, aad all his senti- 
mentality returned. 


Edward did not seem quite to sympathise with his amiabi- 
lity, so Goggins returned to the charge, while Tom and Dick 
were exchanging a few words with James Reddy. 

" You see, sir," said Goggins, " in the first place, it is quite 
beautiful to see the mind in adversity bearing up against tbe 
little antediluvian afflictions that will happen occasionally, 
and then how fine it is to remark the spark of generosity that 
kindles in the noble heart and rushes to the assistance of the 
destitute ! I do assure you, sir, it is a most beautiful sight to 
see the gentleman in defficulties waitin' here for their friends 
to come to their relief, like the last scene in Blue Beard, where 
sister Ann waves her han'kerchief from the tower — the tyrant 
is slain — and virtue rewarded!" 

"Ah, sir!" said he to Edward O'Connor, whose look of 
disgust at the wretched den caught the bailiff's attention, 
" don't entertain an antifassy from first imprissions, which is 
often desaivin'. I do pledge you my honour, sir, there is no 
place in the 'varsal world where human nature is visible in 
more attractive colours than in this humble retrait." 

Edward could not conceal a smile at the fellow's absurdity, 
though his sense of the ridiculous could not overcome the dis- 
gust with which the place inspired him. He gave an admoni- 
tory touch to the elbow of Dick Dawson, who, with his friend 
Tom Durfy, followed Edward from the room, the bailiff bring- 
ing up the rear, and relocking the door on the unfortunate 
James Reddy, who was left "alone in his glory," to finish 
his slashing article against the successful men of the 

Nothing more than words of recognition had passed between 
Reddy and Edward. In the first place, Edward's appearance 
at the very moment the other was indulging in illiberal obser- 
vations upon him rendered the ill-tempered poetaster dumb ; 
and Edward attributed this distance of manner to a feeling of 
shyness which Reddy might entertain at being seen in such a 
place, and therefore had too much good breeding to thrust ln3 
civility on a man who seemed to shrink from it ; but when he 
left the house he expressed his regret to his companions at the 
poor fellow's unfortunate situation. 

It touched Tom Durfy's heart to hear these expressions o£ 
compassion coming from the lips of the man he had heard 
maligned a few minutes before by the very person commise- 
rated, and it raised his opinion higher of Edward, whose hand 
he now shook with warm expressions of thankfulness on his 
own account, for the prompt service rendered to him. Edward 
made as light of his own kindness as he could, and begged Tojb 
to think nothing of such a trifle. 

892 HANDY AND¥. 

" One word I will say to you, Durfy, and I'm sure you'll 
pardon me for it." 

" Could you say a thing to offend me ?" was the answer. 

" You are to be married soon, I understand ?" 

" To-morrow," said Tom. 

"Well, my dear Durfy, if you owe any more money, take 
a real friend's advice, and tell your pretty good-hearted widow 
the whole amount of your debts before you marry her." 

"My dear O'Connor," said Tom, "the money you've lent 
me now is all I owe in the world ; 'twas a tailor's bill, and T 
quite forgot it. You know no one ever thinks of a tailor's 
bill. Debts, indeed !" added Tom, with surprise; "my dear 
fellow, I never could be much in debt, for the devil a one 
would trust me." 

" An excellent reason for your unencumbered state," said 
Edward, " and I hope you pardon me." 

" Pardon !" exclaimed Tom, " I esteem you for your kind 
and manly frankness." 

In the course of their progress towards Dick's lodgings 
Edward reverted to James Reddy's wretched condition, and 
found it was but some petty debt for which he was arrested. 
He lamented, in common with Dick and Tom, the infatuation 
which made him desert a duty he could profitably perform by 
assisting his father in his farming concerns, to pursue a literary 
path, which could never be any other to him than one of thorns. 

As Edward had engaged to meet Gusty in an hour, he part- 
ed from his companions and pursued his course alone. But 
instead of proceeding immediately homeward, he retraced his 
steps to the den of the bailiff and gave a quiet tap at the door 
Mister Goggins himself answered to the knock, and began a 
loud and florid welcome to Edward, who stopped his career of 
eloquence by laying a finger on his lip in token of silence. A 
few words sufficed to explain the motive of his visit. He 
wished to ascertain the sum for which the gentleman up stairs 
was detained. The bailiff informed him; and the money 
necessary to procure the captive's liberty was placed in hia 

The bailiff cast one of his melodramatic glances at Edward, 
and said, "Didn't, I tell you, sir, this was the place for calling 
out the noblest feelings of human nature ?" 

" Can you oblige me with writing materials?" said Edward. 

" I can, sir," said Goggins, proudly, " and with other 
materials* too, if you like — and 'pon my honour, I'll be rjroud 
to drink your health, for you're a raal gintleman." 

* The name given in Ireland to the necessary materials for the 


Edward, in the civilest manner, declined the offer, and 
wrote, or rather tried to write the following note, with a pen 
like a skewer, ink something thicker than mud, and on whity- 
brown paper : — 

" Dear Sib, — I hope you will pardon the liberty I have 
taken in your temporary want of money. You can repay me 
at your convenience. Yours, " E. O'C." 

Edward left the den, and so did James Reddy soon after — 
a better man. Though weak, his heart was not shut to the 
humanities of life — and Edward's kindness, in openinghis eyes 
to the wrong he had done one man, induced in his heart a 
kinder feeling towards all. He tore up his slashing article 
against successful men. Would that every disappointed man 
would do the same ! 

The bailiff was right : even so low a den as his becomes 
ennobled by the presence of active benevolence and prejudice 


Edward, on returning to his hotel, found Gusty there 
before him, in great delight at having seen a " splendid " horse, 
as he said, which had been brought for Edward's inspection, 
he having written a note on his arrival in town to a dealer 
stating his want of a first-rate hunter. 

" He's in the stable now," said Gusty ; " for I desired the 
man to wait, knowing you would be here soon." 

" I cannot see him now, Gusty," said Edward : " will you 
have the kindness to tell the groom I can look at the horse in 
his own stables when I wish to purchase." 

Gusty departed to do the message, somewhat in wonder, 
for Edward loved a fine horse. But the truth was, Edward's 
disposable money, which he had intended for the purchase of 
a hunter, had a serious inroad made upon it by the debts he 
had discharged for other men, and he was forced to forego the 
pleasure he had proposed to himself in the next hunting 
season ; and he did not like to consume any one's time, or 
raise false expectations, by affe. r .ing to look at disposable pro- 
• ' 26 


perty with the eye of a purchaser, when he knew it was 
beyond his reach ; and the flimsy common-places of " I'll 
think of it," or " If I don't see something better," or any 
other of the twenty hacknied excuses which idle people make, 
after consuming busy men's time, Edward held to be unworthy. 
He could ride a hack and deny himself hunting for a whole 
season, but he would not unnecessarily consume the useful 
time of any man for ten minutes. 

This may be sneered at by the idle and thoughtless ; never- 
theless, it is a part of the minor morality which is ever present 
in the conduct of a true gentleman. 

Edward had promised to join Dick's dinner party on an 
impromptu invitation, and the clock striking the appointed 
hour warned Edward it was time to be off; so, jumping up on 
a jaunting car, he rattled ofF to Dick's lodgings, where a jolly 
party was assembled ripe for fun. 

Amongst the guests was a rather remarkable man, a Colonel 
Crammer, who had seen a monstrous deal of service — one of Tom 
Durfy's friends whom he had asked leave to bring with him to 
dinner. Of course, Dick's card and a note of invitation for the 
gallant colonel were immediately despatched ; and he had but 
just arrived before Edward, who found a bustling sensation in 
the room as the colonel was presented to those already assem- 
bled, and Tom Durfy giving whispers, aside, to each person 
touching his friend ; such as — " Very remarkable man " — 
"Seen great service" — "A little odd or so" — "A fund of 
most extraordinary anecdote," &c. &c. 

Now this Colonel Crammer was no other than Tom Loftus, 
whose acquaintance Dick wished to make, and who had been 
invited to the dinner after a preliminary visit ; but Tom 
sent an excuse in his own name, and preferred being present 
under a fictitious one — this being one of the odd ways in 
which his humour broke out ; desirous of giving people a 
" touch of his quality " before they knew him. He was in 
the habit of assuming various characters ; a methodist mis- 
sionary — the patentee of some unheard-of invention — the 
director of some new joint-stock company — in short, anything 
which would give him an opportunity of telling tremendous 
bouncers was equally good for Tom. His reason for assum- 
ing a military guise on this occasion was to bother Moriarty, 
whom he knew he should meet, and held a special reason 
for tormenting ; and he knew he could achieve this, by 
throwing all the stories Moriarty was fond of telling about 
his own service into the shade, by extravagant inventions 
of " hair-breadth 'scapes " and feats by " flood and field." 
Indeed, the dinner would not be worth mentioning but for 


the extraordinary capers Tom cut on the occasion, and the 
unheard-of lies he squandered. 

Dinner was announced by Andy, and with good appetite 
*oup and fish were soon despatched ; sherry followed as a 
matter of necessity. The second course appeared, and 
was not long- under discussion when Dick called for the 
" champagne." 

Andy began to drag the tub towards the table, and Dick, 
impatient of delay, again called " Champagne." 

•• I'm bring-in' it to you, sir," said Andy, tugging at the 

" Hand it round the table," said Dick. 

Andy tried to lift the tub, " to hand it round the table ; " 
but finding he could not manage it, he whispered to Dick, " I 
can't get it up, sir." 

Dick, fancying Andy meant he had got a flask not in a 
sufficient state of effervescence to expel its own cork, whispered 
in return, " Draw it, then." 

" I was dhrawin' it to you, sir, when you stopped me." 

" Well, make haste with it," said Dick. 

" Mister Dawson, I'll trouble you for a small slice of the 
turkey," said the colonel. 

" With pleasure, colonel ; but first do me the honour to 
take champagne. Andy — champagne ! " 

" Here it is, sir ! " said Andy, who had drawn the tub 
close to Dick's chair. 

" Where's the wine, sir ? " said Dick, looking first at the 
tub and then at Andy. 

" There, sir," said Andy, pointing down to the ice. " I 
put the wine into it, as you towld me." 

Dick looked again at the tub, and said, " There is not a 
single bottle there — what do you mean, you stupid rascal 1 " 

'' To be sure, there's no bottle there, sir. The bottles is 
all on the sideboard, but every dhroT V the wine is in the ice, 
as you towld me, sir ; if you put your hand down into it, 
you'll feel it, sir.'' 

The conversation between master and man growing louder 
as it proceeded attracted the attention of the whole company, 
and those near the head of the table became acquainted as soon 
as Dick with the mistake Andy had made, and could not 
resist lraghter; and as the cause of their merriment was told 
from man to man, and passed round the board, a roar of 
laughter uprose, not a little increased by Dick's look of vexa» 
tion, which at length was forced to yield to the infectiou* 
merriment around him, and he l ft *'Q-hed with the rest, ana. 


making a joke of the disappointment, which is the very 
best way of passing one off, he said that he had the honour of 
originating at his table a magnificent scale of hospitality ; for 
though he had heard of company being entertained with a 
whole hogshead of claret, he was not aware of champagne 
being ever served in a tub before. The company were too 
determined to be merry to have their pleasantry put out of 
tune by so trifling a mishap, and it was generally voted that 
the joke was worth twice as much as the wine. Neverthe- 
less, Dick could not help casting a reproachful look now and 
then at Andy, who had to run the gauntlet of many a joke 
cut at his expense, while he waited upon the wags at dinner, 
and caught a lowly-muttered anathema whenever he passed 
near Dick's chair. In short, master and man were both 
glad when the cloth was drawn, and the party could be 
left to themselves. 

Then, as a matter of course, Dick called on the gentlemen 
to charge their glasses and fill high to a toast he had to pro- 
pose — they would anticipate to whom he referred — a gentleman 
who was going to change his state of freedom for one of a 
happier bondage, &c, &c. Dick dashed off his speech with 
several mirth-moving allusions to the change that was coming 
over his friend Tom, and having festooned his composition 
with the proper quantity of "rosy wreaths," &c, &c, &c, 
naturally belonging to such speeches, he wound up with some 
hearty words — free from badinage, and meaning all they con- 
veyed, and finished with the rhyming benediction of a " long 
life and a good wife " to him. 

Tom having returned thanks in the same laughing style 
that Dick proposed his health, and bade farewell to the lighter 
follies of bachelorship for the more serious ones of wedlock, 
the road was now open for any one who was vocally inclined. 
Dick asked one or two, who said they were not within a bottle 
of their singing-point yet, but Tom Durfy was sure his friend 
the colonel would favour them. 

" With pleasure," said the colonel ; " and I'll sing some- 
thing appropriate to the blissful situation of philandering in 
which you have been indulging of late, my friend. I wish 1 
could give you any idea of the song as I heard it warbled by 
the voice of an Indian princess, who was attached to me once, 
and for whom I ran enormous risks — but no matter — that's 
past and gone, but the soft tones of Zulima's voice will ever 
taunt my heart ! The song is a favourite where I heard it — on 
the borders of Cashmere, and is supposed to be sung by a fond 
Woman in the valley of the nightingales — 'tis so in the 


»riginal, but as we have no nightingales in Ireland, 1 have 
substituted the dove in the little translation I have made, 
which, if you'll allow me, I'll attempt." 

Loud cries of " Hear, hear!'' and tapping 1 of applauding 
hands on the table followed, while the colonel gave a few pre- 
liminary hems ; and after some little pilot tones from his 
throat to show the way, his voice ascended in all the glory of 

"Coo! Coo! Coo! Coo! 

Thus did I hear the turtle-dove, 

Coo! Coo! Coo! 
Murmuring forth her love ; 

And as she flew from tree to tree, 

How melting seemed the notes to ma- 
Coo/ Coo! Coo! 

So like the voice of lovers, 
'Twas passing sweet to hear 

The birds within the covers, t 
In the spring-time of the year. 


"Coo! Coo! Coo! Coo! 

Thus the song 's returned again— 
Coo! Coo! Coo! 

Through the shady glen; 
But there I wandered lone and sad, 
While every bird around was glad. 
Coo! Coo! Coo! 
Thus so iondly murmured they, 

Coo! Coo! Coo! 
While my love was away. 
And yet the song to lovers, 

Though sad, is sweet to hear, 
From birds within the covers, 
In the spring-time of the year." 

The colonel's song, given with Tom Loftus' good voice, 
was received with great applause, and the fellows all voted it 
catching, and began " cooing " round the table like a parcel of 

" A translation from an Eastern poet, you say 1" 

"Yes," said Tom. 

" 'Tis not very eastern in its character," said Moriarty. 

" I mean a j'ree translation, of course," added the mock 


" Would you favour us with the song again, in the original V 
added Moriarty. 

Tom Loftus did not know one syllable of any other 
language than his own, and it would not have been convenient 
to talk gibberish to Moriarty, who had a smattering of some 
of the Eastern tongues ; so he declined giving his Cashmerian 
song in its native purity, because, as he said, he never could 
manage to speak their dialect, though he understood it reason- 
ably well. 

" But there's a gentleman I am sure will sing some other 
song — and a better one I have no doubt," said Tom with a very 
humble prostration of his head on the table, and anxious by a 
fresh song to get out of the dilemma in which Moriarty'? 
question was near placing him. 

" Not a better, colonel," said the gentleman who was ad- 
dressed, " but I cannot refuse your call, and I will do my best ; 
hand me the port wine, pray ; I always take a glass of port 
before I sing — I think 'tis good for the throat — what do you 
say, colonel?" 

" When I want to sing particularly well," said Tom., '•' I 
drink canary." * 

The gentleman smiled at the whimsica. answer, tossed off 
sis glass of port, and began. 

* Lat>y mine ! lady mine ! 
Take the rosy wreath I twine , 
All its sweets are less than thine, 

Lady, lady mine! 
The blush that on thy cheek is found 
Bloometh fresh the whole year round; 
Thy sweet breath as sweet gives sound, 
Lady, lady mine! 


"Lady mine! lady mine! 
How I love the graceful vine, 
Whose tendrils mock thy ringlets twbl^ 

Lady, lady mine! 
How I love that gen'rous tree, 
Whose ripe clusters promise me 
Bumpers bright, — to pledge to thta, 

Lady, lady mine! 

"Lady mine! lady mine! 
Like the stars that nightly shins, 

HANDY AND1. o!)9 

Thy sweet eyes shed light divine, 

Lady, lady mine'. 
And as sages wise, of old, 
From the stars could fate unfold, 
Thy bright eyes my fortune told, 
Lady, lady mine!" 

The song was just in the style to catch gentlemen after 
dinner — the second verse particularly, and many a glass was 
emptied of a " bumper bright," and pledged to the particular 
"thee," which each individual had selected for his devotion. 
Edward at that moment certainly thought of Fanny Dawson.. 

Let teetotallers say what they please, there is a genial influ- 
ence inspired by wine and song — not in excess, but in that 
wholesome degree which stirs the blood and warms the fancy ; 
and as one raises the glass to the lip, over which some sweet 
name is just breathed from the depth of the heart, what libation 
so lit to pour to absent friends as wine? What is wine 1 It is 
the grape present in another form ; its essence is there, though 
the fruit which produced it grew thousands of miles away, and 
perished years ago. So the object of many a tender thought 
may be spiritually present, in defiance of space — and fond recol- 
lections cherished in defiance of time. 

As the party became more convivial the mirth began to 
assume a broader form. Tom Durfy drew out Moriarty on the 
subject of his services, that the mock colonel might throw every 
new achievement into the shade ; and this he did in the most 
barefaced manner, but mixing so much of probabiLiy with his 
audacious fiction, that those who were not up to the joke only 
supposed him to be a very great romancer ; while those friends 
who were in Loftus' confidence exhibited a most capacious 
stomach for the marvellous, and backed up his lies with a ready 
credence. If Moriarty told some fearful incident of a tiger 
hunt,, the colonel capped it with something more wonderful, of 
slaughtering lions in a wholesale way like rabbits. When 
Moriarty expatiated on the intensity of tropical heat, the colonel 
would upset him with something more appalling. 

" Now, sir," said Loftus, " let me ask you what is the greatest 
amount of heat you have ever experienced — I say experienced, 
not heard of — for that goes for nothing. I always speak from 

"Well, sir,'' said Moriarty, " I have known it to be so hot 
in India, that I have had a hole dug in the ground under mj 
tent, and sat in it, and put a table standing over the hole, to try 
and guard me from the intolerable fervour of the eastern sun, 
and even then I was hot. What do you say to that, colonel V 
asked Moriarty, triumphantly. 


'•' Have you ever been in the "West Indies ?" inquired Loftua 

" Never," said Moriarty, who, once entrapped into this 
admission, was directly at the colonel's mercy, — and the colonel 
launched out fearlessly. 

"Then, my good sir, you know nothing 1 of heat. I have 
seen in the West Indies an umbrella burned over a man's head." 

" Wonderful!" cried Loftus' backers. 

" 'Tis strange, sir,'' said Moriarty, "that we have never seen 
that mentioned by any writer." 

" Easily accounted for, sir," said Loftus. "'Tis so common 
a circumstance, that it ceases to be worthy of observation. An 
author writing of this country might as well remark that the 
apple- women are to be seen sitting at the corners of the streets 
That's nothing, sir ; but there are two things of which I have 
personal knowledge, rather remarkable. One day of intense 
heat (even for that climate) I was on a visit at the plantation of 
a friend of mine, and it was so out-o'-the-way scorching, that 
our lips were like cinders, and we were obliged to have black 
slaves pouring sangaree down our throats by gallons— I don't 
hesitate t» say gallons — and we thought we could not have sur- 
vived through the day ; but what could we think of our suffer- 
ings, when we heard that several negroes, who had gone to 
sleep under the shade of some cocoa-nut trees, had been scalded 
li; death?" 

" Scalded ! " said his friends ; " burnt, you mean." 

" No, scalded ; and ho?v do you think 1 The intensity of the 
heat had cracked the cocoa-nuts, and the boiling - milk inside 
dropped down and pi-oduced the fatal result. The same day a 
remarkable accident occurred at the battery ; the French were 
lovering round the island at the time, and the governor, being 
timid man, ordered the guns to be always kept loaded." 

" I never heard of such a thing in a battery in my life, sir," 
iid Moriarty. 

" Nor I either," said Loftus, "till then." 

" What was the governor's name, sir ?" inquired Moriarty, 
pursuing his train of doubt. 

" You must excuse me, captain, from naming him," said 
Loftus, with readiness, " after incautiously saying he was 

'•' Hear, hear ! " said all the friends. 

" But to pursue my story, sir : — the guns were loaded, and 
with the intensity of the heat went off, one after another, and 
ijuite riddled one of his Majesty's frigates that was lying in the 

" That's one of the most difficult viddles to comprehend I 
ever heard," said Moriarty. 


"The filiate answered the riddle with her guns, sir, 1 
promise you." 

" "What ! " exclaimed Moriarty, " fire on the fort of her own 

'• There is an honest principle exists amongst sailors, sir, to 
return fire under all circumstances, wherever it comes from 
friend or foe. Fire, of which they know the value so well, tbjy 
won't take from anybody." 

'• And what was the consequence?" said Moriarty. 

" Sir, it was the most harmless broadside ever delivered from 
the ports of a British frigate ; not a single house or human 
being was injured — the day was so hot that every sentinel had 
sunk on the ground in utter exhaustion — the whole population 
were asleep ; the only loss of life which occurred was that of a 
blue macaw, which belonged to the commandant's daughter." 

" Where was the macaw, may I beg to know ?" said Mori- 
arty, cross-questioning the colonel in the spirit of a counsel for 
the defence on a capital indictment. 

" In the drawing-room window, sir." 

" Then surely the ball must have done some damage in the 
house ?•" 

" Not the least, sir," said Loftus, sipping his wine. 

"Surely, colonel!" returned Moriarty, warming, "the ball 
could not have killed the macaw without injuring the house ?" 

" My dear sir," said Tom, " I did not say the ball killed the 
macaw, I said the macaw was killed ; but that was in conse- 
quence of a splinter from an dpaulement of the south-east angle 
of the fort which the shot struck and glanced off harmlessly — 
except for the casualty of the macaw." 

Moriarty returned a kind of grunt, which implied, that, 
though he could not further question, he did not believe. 
Under such circumstances, taking snuff is a great relief to a 
man ; and, as it happened, Moriarty, in taking snuff, could gra- 
tify his nose and his vanity at the same time, for he sported a 
eilver-gilt snuff-box which was presented to him in some extra- 
ordinary way, and bore a grand inscription. 

On this "piece of plate" being produced, of course it went 
round the table, and Moriarty could scarcely coneealthe satis- 
faction he felt as each person read the engraven testimonial of 
his worth. When it had gone the circuit of the board, Tom 
Loftus put his hand into his pocket and pulled out the butt- 
end of a rifle, which is always furnished with a small box, cut 
out of the solid part of the wood, and covered with a plate of 
brass acting on a hinge. This box, intended to carry small 
implements' for the use of the rifleman, to keep his piece in 
order, was filled with snuff, and Tom said, as he laid it down on 

ttANtY AH ft* 

the table, " This is my snuff-box, gentlemen ; nol as handsome 
as my gallant friend's at the opposite side of the tabic, but 
extremely interesting to me. It was previous to one of our 
dashing affairs in Spain that our riflemen were thrown out in 
front and on the flanks. The rifles were supported by the light 
compan ies of the regiments in advance, and it was in the latte-r 
duty I was engaged. We had to feel our way through a wood, 
and had cleared it of the enemy, when, as we debouched from 
the wood on the opposite side, we were charged by an over- 
whelming force of Polish lancers and cuirassiers. Retreat was 
impossible — resistance almost hopeless. 'My lads,' said I, 'we 
must do something novel here, or we are lost — startle them by 
fresh practice — the bayonet will no longer avail you — club 
your muskets, and hit the horses over the noses, and they'll 
smell danger.' They took my advice ; of course we first 
delivered a withering volley, and then to it we went in flail 
fashion, thrashing away with the butt-ends of our muskets , 
and sure enough the French were astonished and driven back 
in amazement. So tremendous, sir, was the hitting on our side, 
that in many instances the butt-ends of the muskets snapped 
off like tobacco pipes, and the field was quite strewn with them 
after the affair : I picked one of them up as a little memento of 
the day, and have used it ever since as a snuff-box." 

Every one was amused by the outrageous romancing of the 
colonel but Moriarty, who looked rather disgusted, because he 
could not edge in a word of his own at all; he gave up the 
tiling njw in despair, for the colonel had it all his own way, 
like the bull in the china-shop ; the more startling the bouncers 
he told, the more successful were his anecdotes, and he 
kept pouring them out with the most astounding rapidity; and 
though all voted him the greatest liar they ever met, none 
suspected he was not a military man. 

Dick wanted Edward O'Connor, who sat beside him, to sing, 
but Edward whispered, "For heaven's sake don't stop the flow 
of the lava from that mighty eruption of lies !— he's a perfect 
Vesuvius of mendacity. You'll never meet his like again, so 
make the most of him while you have him. Pray, sir," said 
Edward to the colonel, " have you ever been in any of the cold 
climates ? I am induced to ask you, from the, very wonderful 
anecdotes you have told of the hot ones." 

" Bless you, sir, I know every corner about the north 

" In which of the expeditions, may I ask, were you engaged ?" 
inquired Moriarty. 

" In none of them, sir. We knocked up a little amateur 
party, I and a few curious friends, and certainly we witnessed 


wonders. You talk here of a sharp wind ; but the wind is so 
sharp there that it cut off our beard and whiskers. Boreas is 
a great barber, sir, with his north pole for a sign. Then as for 
frost ! — I could tell you such incredible things of its intensity ; 
our butter, for instance, was as hard as a rock ; we were obliged 
to knock it off with a chisel and hammer, like a mason at a piece 
of granite, and it was necessary to be careful of your eyes at 
breakfast, the splinters used to fly about so ; indeed, one of the 
party did lose the use of his eye from a butter-splinter. But 
the oddest thing of all was to watch two men talking to each 
other : you could observe the words as they came out of their 
mouths, suddenly frozen and dropping down in little pellets 
of ice at their feet, so that, after a long conversation, you 
might see a man standing up to his knees in his own eloquence." 

They all roared with laughter at this last touch of the 
marvellous, but Loftus preserved his gravity. 

" I don't wonder, gentlemen, at your not receiving that as 
truth — I told you it was incredible — in short, that is the 
reason I have resisted all temptations to publish. Murray, 
Longmans, Colburn, Bentley, all the publishers have offered 
me unlimited terms, but I have always refused — not that I am 
a rich man, which makes the temptation of the thousands I 
mi<jht realise the harder to withstand ; 'tis not that the gold is 
not precious to me, but there is something dearer to me than 
gold — it is my character for veracity ! — and therefore, as I am 
convinced the public would not believe the wonders I have 
witnessed, I confine the recital of my adventures to the social 
circle. But what profession affords such scope for varied 
incident as that of the soldier ? Change of clime, danger, 
vicissitude, love, war, privation one day, profusion the next, 
darkling dangers, and sparkling joys ! Zounds ! there's nothing 
like the life of a soldier ! and, by the powers ! I'll give you a 
song in its praise." 

The proposition was received with cheers, and Tom rittled 
away these ringing rhymes ; — 

% §oWb ^oj« §ffg, 

" On there's not a trade that's going 
Worth showing, 
Or knowing, 
Like that from glory growing, 

For a bowld sojer boy; 


Where right or left we go, 
S Lire you know, 
Friend or foe 
Will have the hand or toe 

From a bowld sojer boy! 
There's not a town we march thro*, 
Hut the ladies looking arch thro' 
The window-panes, will search thro* 

The ranks to find their joy; 
While up the street, 
Sach girl you meet, 
With look so sly, 
Will cry 
' My eye ! 
Oh, isn't he a darling, the bowld sojer fe9»? 


M But when we get the route, 
How they pout 
And they shout 
While to the right about, 

Goes the bowld sojer boy. 
Oh, 'tis then that ladies fair 
In despair 
Tear their hair, 
But ' the divil-a-one I care,' 

Says the bowld sojer bov' 
For the world is all before us, 
Where the landladies adore us, 
And ne'er refuse to score us 

But chalk us up with joy : 
We taste her tap, 
We tear her cap' — 
' Oh, that's the chap 
For me ! ' 
Says she ; 
' Oh, is'nt he a darling, the bowld sojef fxty 

!t ' Then come along with me, 
And you'll see 
How happy you will be 

With your bowld sojer boy: 
Faith ! if you're up to fun, 
With me run ; 
'Twill be done 
In the snapping of a gun,' 

Says the bowld sojer boy ; 
' And 'tis then that, without scandaf, 
Myself will proudly dandle 
The little farthing candle 

Of our mutual flame, my joy I 


May his light shine 

As bright as mine, 

Till in the line 

He'll blaze, 

And raise 

The glory of his corps, like a bowld sojer boy!' " 

Andy entered the room while the song was in progress, am] 
handed a letter to Dick, which, after the song was over, and 
he had asked pardon of his guests, he opened. 

" By Jove ! you sing right well, colonel," said one of the 

" I think the gallant colonel's songs nothing in comparison 
with his wonderful stories," said Moriarty. 

" Gentlemen," said Dick, " wonderful as the colonel's re- 
citals have been, this letter conveys a piece of information more 
surprising than anything we have heard this day. That stupid 
fellow who spoiled our champagne has come in for the inhe- 
ritance of a large property." 

" What ! — Handy Andy ? " exclaimed those who knew his 

" Handy Andy," said Dick, " is now a man of fortune ! " 


It was a note from Squire Egan which conveyed the news 
to Dick that caused so much surprise ; the details of the case 
were not even hinted at ; the bare fact alone was mentioned, 
with a caution to preserve it still a secret from Andy, and 
appointing an hour for dinner at " Morrison's" next day, at 
which hotel the Squire expected to arrive from the country, 
with his lady and Eanny Dawson, en route for London. Till 
dinner time, then, the day following, Dick was obliged to lay 
by his impatience as to the " why and wherefore" of Andy's 
sudden advancement ; but, as the morning was to be occupied 
with Tom Durfy's wedding, Dick had enough to keep him 
engaged in the meantime. 

At the appointed hour a few of Tom's particular friends 
were in attendance to witness the ceremony, or, to use their 
own phrase, " to see him turned off," and among them was 
Tom Loftus. Pick was holding out his hand to " the colonel," 


when Tom Durfy stepped between, and introduced him under 
his real name. The masquerading trick of the night before 
was laughed at, with an assurance from Dick that it only ful- 
filled all he had ever heard of the Protean powers of a gentle- 
man whom he so much wished to know. A few minutes' con- 
versation in the recess of a window put Tom Loftus and Dick 
the Devil on perfectly good terms, and Loftus proposed to 
Dick that they should execute the old-established trick on a 
bridegroom, of snatching the first kiss from the bride. 

" You must get in Tom's way," said Loftus, " and I'll kiss 

" Why, the fact is," said Dick, " I had proposed that plea- 
sure to myself; and, if it's all the same to you, you can jostle 
Tom, and I'll do the remainder in good style, I promise you." 

" That I can't agree to," said Loftus ; " but as it appears 
we both have set our heart on cheating the bridegroom, let us 
both start fair, and 'tis odd if between us Tom Durfy is not 

This was agreed upon, and many minutes did not elapse till 
the bride made her appearance, and " hostilities were about to 
commence." The mutual enemy of the " high contracting 
parties" first opened his book, and then his mouth, and in such 
solemn tones, that it was enough to frighten even a widow 
much less a bachelor. As the ceremony verged to a conclusion, 
Tom Loftus and Dick the Devil edged up towards their 'van- 
tage-ground on either side of the blooming widow, now nearly 
finished into a wife, and stood like greyhounds in the slip, 
ready to start after puss (only puss ought to be spelt here with 
a B). The widow, having been married before, was less 
nervous than Durfy, and suspecting the intended game, de- 
termined to foil both the brigands, who intended to rob the 
bridegroom of his right ; so, when the last word of the cere- 
mony was spoken, and Loftus and Dick made a simultaneous 
dart upon her, she very adroitly ducked, and allowed the two 
"ruggers and rivers'' to rush into each other's arms, and rub 
their noses together, while Tom Durfy and his blooming bride 
sealed their contract very agreeably without their noses getting 
in each other's way. 

Loftus and Dick had only a laugh at their own expense, 
instead of a kiss at Tom's, upon the failure of their plot ; but 
Loftus, in a whisper to Dick, vowed he would execute a trick 
upon the " pair of them" before the day was over. 

There was a breakfast as usual, and chicken and tongue, 
and wine, which, taken in the morning, are provocative of 
eloquence ; and, of course, the proper quantity of healths and 
jfeoasts were executed selon la regie, until it was time for the 


Dride and bridegroom to bow and blush and cui'iaey out of the 
room, and make themselves food for a paragraph in the morning 
papers, under the title of the " happy pair," who set off in a 
handsome chariot, &c, &c. 

Tom Durfy had engaged a pretty cottage in the neighbour- 
hood of Clontarf to pass the honeymoon. Tom Loftus knew 
this, and knew, moreover, that the sitting-room looked out on 
a small lawn which lay before the house, screened by a hedge 
from the road, but with a circular-sweep leading up to the 
house, and a gate of ingress and egress at either end of the 
hedge. In this sitting-room Tom, after lunch, was pressing 
his lady fair to take a glass of champagne, when the entrance 
gate was thrown open, and a hackney jaunting-car with Tom 
Loftus and a friend or two upon it, driven by a special raga- 
muffin blowing a tin horn, rolled up the skimping avenue, and 
as it scoured past the windows of the sitting-room, Tom Loftus 
and the other passengers kissed hands to the astonished bride 
and bridegroom, and shouted " Wish you joy ! '' 

The thing was so sudden that Durfy and the widow, not 
seeing Loftus, could hardly comprehend what it meant, and 
both ran to the window ; but just as they reached it, up drove 
another car, freighted with two or three more wild rascals who 
followed the lead which had been given them ; and as a long 
train of cars were seen in the distance all driving up to the 
avenue, the widow, with a timid little scream, threw her hand- 
kerchief over her face and ran into a corner. Tom did not 
know whether to laugh or be angry, but, being a good-humoured 
fellow, he satisfied himself with a few oaths against the incor- 
rigible Loftus, and, when the cortege had passed, endeavoured 
to restore the startled fair one to her serenity. 

Squire Egan and party arrived at the appointed hour at 
their hotel, where Dick was waiting to receive them, and, of 
course, his inquiries were immediately directed to the extraor- 
dinary circumstance of Andy's elevation, the details of which 
he desired to know. These we shall not give in the expanded 
form in which Dick heard them, but endeavour to condense as 
much as possible, within the limits to which we are pre- 

The title of Scatterbrain had never been inherited directly 
irom father to son; it had descended in a zigzag fashion, 
most appropriate to the name, nephews and cousins having 
come in for the coronet and the property for some generations- 
The late lord had led a roue bachelor life up to the age of 
ailty, and then thought it not worth while to marry, though 


many mammas and daughters spread their nets and arrayed 
their charms to entrap the sexagenarian. 

The truth was, he had quaffed the cup of licentious pleasure 
all his life, after which he thought matrimony would prove in- 
sipid. The mere novelty induces some men, under similar 
circumstances, to try the holy estate ; but matrimony could not 
offer to Lord Scatterbrain the charms of novelty, for he had 
been once married, though no one but himself was cognisant 
of the fact. 

The reader will certainly say, " Here's an Irish bull ; bow 
could a man be married, without, at least, a woman and a 
priest being joint possessors of the secret ?'' 

Listen, gentle reader, and you shall hear how none but 
Lord Scatterbrain knew Lord Scatterbrain was married. 

There was nothing at which he ever stopped for the gratifi- 
cation of his passions — no wealth he would not squander, no 
deceit he would not practise, no disguise he would not assume. 
Therefore, gold, and falsehood, and masquerading were ex- 
tensively employed by this reckless rou6 in the service of 
Venus, in which service, combined with that of Bacchus, his 
life was entirely passed. 

Often he assumed the guise of a man in humble life, to 
lpproximate some object of his desire, whom fine clothes and 
bribery would have instantly warned ; and in too many cases 
his artifices were successful. It was in one of these adventures 
ne cast his eyes upon the woman hitherto known in this story 
under the name of the widow Rooney; but all his practices 
against her virtue were unavailing, and nothing but a mar- 
riage could accomplish what he had set his fancy upon ; but 
even this would not stop him, for he married her. 

The widow Rooney has appeared no very inviting person- 
age through these pages, and the reader may wonder that a 
man of rank could proceed to such desperate lengths upon 
such slight temptation ; but, gentle reader, she was young and 
attractive when she was married — never to say handsome, but 
goodlooking decidedly, and with that sort of figure which is 
comprehended in the phrase " a fine girl." 

And has that fine girl altered into the widow Rooney ? 
Ah ! poverty and hardship are sore trials to the body as well 
as to the mind. Too little is it considered, while we gaze on 
aristocratic beauty, how much good food, soft lying, warm 
wrapping, ease of mind, have to do with the attractions which 
command our admiration. Many a hand moulded by nature 
to give elegance of form to a kid glove, is " stinted of its fair 
proportion" by grubbing toil. The foot which might hxve ex- 
sited the admiration of a ball-room, peeping under a flounce of 


lace in a satin shoe, and treading the ma zy dance, will grow 
coarse and broad by tramping in its nativ e state over toilsome 
miles, bearing perchance to a market town some few eggs, 
whose whole produce would not purchase the sandal-tie of my 
lady's slipper, will grow red and rough by standing in wet 
trenches, and feeling the winter's frost. The neck on which 
diamonds might have worthily sparkled, will look less tempt- 
ing when the biting winter has hung icicles there for gems. 
Cheeks formed as fresh for dimpling bh sh es, eyes as well to 
sparkle, and lips to smile, as those whi ch shed their bright- 
ness and their witchery in the tapestried 6aloon, will grow pale 
with want, and forget their dimples, when smiles are not there 
to wake them ; lips become compressed and drawn with anx- 
ious thought, and eyes the brightest a*e quenched of their 
fires by many tears. 

Of all these trials poor widow Roone had enough. Her 
husband, after living with her a month, in the character of a 
steward to some great man in a distant pa t of the country, 
left her one day for the purpose of transacting business at a 
fair, which, he said, would require his absence tor some time. 
At the end of a week, a letter was sent to her, stating that the 
make-believe steward had robbed his master extensively, and 
had fled to America, whence he promised to write to her, and 
send her means to follow him, requesting, in the meantime, 
her silence, in case any inquiry should be made about him. 
This villanous trick was played off the more readily, from the 
fact that a steward had absconded at the time, and the differ- 
ence in the name the cruel profligate accounted for by saying, 
that as he was hiding at the moment he married her, he had 
assumed another name. 

The poor deserted girl, fully believing this trumped-up 
tale, obeyed with unflinching fidelity the injunctions of her 
betrayer ; and while reports were flying abroad of the ab- 
sconded steward, she never believed a word of what had been 
confided to her, and accounted for t 1 e absence of " Eooney" 
in various ways of her own ; so that all trace of the profligate 
was lost, by her remaining inactiv in making the smallest 
inquiry about him, and her very fidelity to her betrayer became 
the means of her losing all power of procuring his discovery. 
For months she trusted all was right ; but when moon followed 
moon, and she gave birth to a boy without hearing one word ot 
his father, misgiving came upon her, and the only consolation 
left her was, that, though she was deserted, and a child left on 
her hands, still she was an honest woman. That child was the 
hero of our tale. The neighbours passed some ill-natured 
remarks about her, when it began to be suspected that he? 



husband would never let her know more about him ; for she hat! 
been rather a saucy lady, holding up her nose at poor men, 
and triumphing in her catching of the " steward," a man well 
to do in the world ; and it may be remembered, that this same 
spirit existed in her when Andy's rumoured marriage with 
Matty gave the prospect of her affairs being retrieved, for she 
displayed her love of pre-eminence to the very first person 
who gave her the good news. The ill-nature of her neigh- 
bours, however, after the birth of her child, and the desertion 
of her husband, inducing her to leave the scene of her un- 
merited wrongs and annoyances, she suddenly decamped, and 
removing to another part of Ireland, the poor woman began a 
life of hardship, to support herself and rear the offspring of 
her unfortunate marriage. In this task she was worthily 
assisted by one of her brothers, who pitied her condition, and 
joined her in her retreat. He married in course of time, and 
his wife died in giving birth to Oonah, who was soon deprived 
of her other parent by typhus fever, that terrible scourge of 
the poor ; so that the praiseworthy desire of the brother to 
befriend his sister only involved her, as it happened, in the 
deeper difficulty of supporting two children instead of one. 
This she did heroically, and the orphan girl rewarded her, by 
proving a greater comfort than her own child ; for Andy had 
inherited in all its raciness the blood of the Scatterbrains, and 
his deeds, as recorded in this history, prove he was no unwor- 
thy representative of that illustrious title. 

To return to his father — he who had done the grievous 
wrong to the poor peasant girl ; he lived his life of profligacy 
through, and in a foreign country died at last ; but on his 
death-bed the scourge of conscience rendered every helpless 
hour an age of woe. Bitterest of all was the thought of" the 
wife deceived, deserted, and unacknowledged. To face his 
last account with such fearful crime upon his head he dared 
not, and made all the reparation now in his power, by avowing 
his marriage in his last will and testament, ind giving all the 
information in his power to trace his wife, if living, or his heir, 
if such existed. He enjoined, by the most sacred injunctions 
upon him to whom the charge was committed, that neither cost 
nor trouble should be spared in the search, leaving a large sura 
in ready money besides, to establish the right, in case his 
nephew disputed the will. By his own order his death was 
kept secret, and secretly his agent set to work to discover any 
trace of the heir. This, in consequence of the woman changing 
her place of abode, became more difficult ; and it was not until 
after very minute inquiry that some trace was picked up, and 
a letter written to thy parish priest of the district to which she 


had removed, making certain general inquiries. It was found, 
on comparing dates sometime after, that it was this very letter 
to Father Blake which Andy had purloined from the post- 
office, and the Squire had thrown into the fire, so that our hero 
was very near, by his blundering, destroying his own fortune. 
Luckily for him, however, an untiring and intelligent agent 
was engaged in his cause, and a subsequent inquirv, and finally 
a personal visit to Father Blake, cleared the matter up satis- 
factorily, and the widow was enabled to produce such proof of 
her identity, and that of her son, that Handy Andy was indis- 
putably Lord Scatterbrain ; and the whole affair was managed 
so secretly, that the death of the late lord, and the claim of 
title and estates in the name of the rightful heir, wereannounced 
at the same moment ; and the " Honourable Sackville," 
instead of coming into possession of the peerage and property, 
and fighting his adversary at the great advantage of possession, 
could only commence a suit to drive him out, if he sued at all. 

Our limits compel us to this brief sketch of the circum- 
stances through which Handy Andy was entitled to and became 
possessed of a property and a title, and we must now say 
something of the effects produced by the intelligence on the 
parties most concerned. 

The Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain, on the advice of 
high legal authority, did not attempt to dispute a succession of 
which such satisfactorv proofs existed, and, fortunately for 
himself, had knocked up a watering-place match, while he was 
yet in the bloom of heirship presumptive to a peerage, with the 
daughter of an English millionaire. 

When the widow Rooney heard the extraordinary turn 
affairs had taken, her emotions, after the first few hours of 
pleasurable surprise, partook of regret rather than satisfaction. 
She looked upon her past life of suffering, and felt as if Fate 
had cheated her. She, a peeress, had passed her life in poverty 
and suffering, with contempt from those over whom she had 
superior rights ; and the few years of the prosperous future 
before her offered her poor compensation for the pinching past. 
But after such selfish considerations, the maternal feeling came 
to her relief, and she rejoiced that her son was a lord. But then 
came the terrible thought of his marriage to dash her joy and 

This was a source of grief to Oonah as well. " If he wasn't 
married," she would say to herself, " I might be Lady Scatter- 
brain ;" and the tears would burst through poor Oon all's 
fingers as she held them up to her eyes and sobbed heavily, 
till the poor girl would try to gather consolation from the 
thought that, maybe, Andy's altered circumstances would 


make her disregarded. " There would be plenty to have him 
now,'' thought she, "and he wouldn't think of me, may be — o 
'tis well as it is." 

When Andy heard that he was a lord — a real lord — and, 
after the first shock of astonishment, could comprehend what 
wealth and power wore in his possession, he, though the most 
interested person, never thought, as the two women had done, 
of the desperate strait in which his marriage placed hi but 
broke out into short peals of laughter, and exclaimed in the 
intervals, u that it was mighty quare ;" and when, after much 
questioning, any intelligible desire he had could be understood, 
the first one he clearly expressed was "to have a goold watch" 

He was made, however, to understand that other things 
than " goold watches" were of more importance ; an the 
Squire, with his characteristic goodnature, endeavoured to open 
Andy's comprehension to the nature of his altered situa ion. 
This, it may be supposed, was rather a complicated piece of 
work, and too difficult to be set down in black and white ; t" e 
most intelligible portions to Andy were his immediate remova 
from servitude, and a ready-made suit of gentlemanly apparel, 
which made Andy pay several visits to the looking-glass. 
Goodnatured as the Squire was, it would have been equally 
awkward to him as to Andy for the newly-fledged lord, though 
a lord, to have a seat at his table, neither could he remain in 
an inferior position in his house ; so Dick, who loved fun, 
volunteered to take Andy under his especial care to London, 
and let him share his lodgings, as a bachelor may do many 
things which a man surrounded by his family cannot. Besides, 
in a place distant from such extraordinary chances and changes 
as those which befel our hero, the sudden and startling 
difference of position of, the parties, not being known, renders 
it possible for a gentleman to do the goodnatured thing which 
Dick undertook, without compromising himself. In Dublin it 
would not have done for Dick Dawson to allow the man who 
would have held his horse the day before, to share the same 
board with him merely because Fortune had played one of hei 
frolics and made Andy a lord ; but in London the case was 

To London therefore they proceeded. The incidents of 
the journey, sea-sickness included, which so astonished the new 
traveller, we pass over, as well as the numberless mistakes in 
the great metropolis, which afforded Dick plentiful amusement, 
though, in truth, Dick had better objects in view than laughing 
at Andy's embarrassments in his new position. He really 
wished to help him in the difficult path into which the new 
Irs i had been thrust, and did this in a merry sort of way more 


tuccessfully than by serious drilling. It was hard to break 
Andy of the habit of saying " Misther Dick," when addressing 
bim, but, at last, " Misther Dawson" was established. Eatin" 
with his knife, drinking as loudly as a horse, and other like ac- 
complishments, were not so easily got under, yet it was 
wonderful how much he improved, as his shyness grew less, and 
his consciousness of being a lord grew stronger. 

But if the good nature of Dick had not prompted him tt 
take Andy into training, the newly-discovered nobleman would 
not have long been in want of society. It was wonderful how 
many persons were eager to show civility to his lordship, and 
gome amongst them even went so far as to discover relation- 
ship. Plenty were soon ready to take Lord Scatterbrain here, 
and escort him there, accompany him to exhibitions and other 
public places, and charmed all the time with his lordship's 
remarks — "they were so original" — " quite delightful to meet 
something so fresh " — " how remarkably clever the Irish 
were !" Such were among the observations his ignorant blun- 
ders produced ; and he who, as Handy Andy, had been anathe- 
matised all his life as a " stupid rascal," " a blundering thief," 
"a thick-headed brute" &c., under the title of Lord Scatter- 
brain all of a sudden was voted "vastly amusing — a little 
eccentric, perhaps, but so droll — in fact, so witty !" 

This was all very delightful for Andy — so delightful that 
he quite forgot Bridget rhua. But that lady did not leave him 
long in his happy obliviousness. One day, while Dick was 
absent, and Andy rocking on a chair before the fire, twirling 
the massive gold chain of his gold watch round his forefinger, 
and uncoiling it again, his repose was suddenly disturbed by 
the appearance of Bridget herself, accompanied by Shan More, 
and a shrimp of a man in rusty black, who turned out to be a 
shabby attorney who advanced money to convey his lady client 
and her brother to London, for the purpose of making a dash 
at the lord at once, and securing a handsome sum by a coup de 

Andy, though taken by surprise, was resolute. Bitter words 
were exchanged ; and as they seemed likely to lead to blows, 
Andy prudently laid hold of the poker, and, in language not 
quite suited to a noble lord, swore he would see what the inside 
of Shan More's head was made of, if he attempted to advance 
upon him. Bridget screamed and scolded, while the attorney 
endeavoured to keep the peace, and beyond everything, urged 
Lord Scatterbrain to enter at once into written engagements 
for a handsome settlement upon his " lady." 

" Lady !" exclaimed Andy ; " oh ! — a pretty lady sho 
ta !" 


" I'm as good a lady as you are a Ior<2, any bow," cried 

" Altercation will do